The Chessmaster: White Rook
by Flye Autumne
Summary: Chessmaster Volume IV. AU. The Triwizard Tournament comes to Hogwarts, leading to more questions than answers. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to most, the power of the Dark Lord continues to grow, leaving Wizarding Britain balanced on the point of conflict…
1. The Brethren

THE CHESSMASTER

VOLUME FOUR: WHITE ROOK

by Flye Autumne

* * *

 **A/N: Just your typical disclaimer for this entire work: I own nothing. All of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

 **Note: This is the fourth volume of** _ **The Chessmaster**_ **series. If you haven't read** _ **Black Pawn, White Knight,**_ **and** _ **Black Bishop**_ **yet, you should do so before reading this volume.**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE: THE BRETHREN

* * *

 _The Annex_

 _Gaunt House, Cornwall_

 _17 July 1994_

* * *

Lord Voldemort settled himself into the throne-like chair, steepling his fingers under his chin as he surveyed the room. All of the inner circle was present, with the noticeable exceptions of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch. Lord Voldemort allowed his gaze to linger on each member of the inner circle. He only allowed nine of his Death Eaters this close status, although, the number really was eight given that one of the nine was Thomas Gaunt.

A smirk made its way onto his otherwise impassive face. His younger self had done remarkably well in gaining support during the unfortunate interim years. Of course, Thomas didn't have all of the pieces; after all, he didn't want to risk his horcrux turning on him. Magically speaking, Thomas should not be able to turn against him given the number of charms and dark magics woven into the ring, but Lord Voldemort was not one to take risks - not anymore after the fiasco in Godric's Hollow. No, he would be careful, to the point of too careful. He would be the power, and Thomas would act as the reason, and as one, they would seize control of Magical Britain.

He cleared his throat, and immediately all eyes were upon him. "If you would sit."

Chairs scraped softly against the antique carpet as the inner circle took their seats. Most had aged well, although Thaddeus Nott and Cadmus Avery had gray hair mixed in with brown. Austin Yaxley and Severus looked more or less the same, and Lucius was aggravating timeless.

"It is wonderful," he began, "to be fully among you in the flesh once again. Each of you should consider yourself privileged to be here today. Those sitting in this room are the chosen few, the inner circle of the brethren. As you may have noticed, there are a few empty chairs. Some of our compatriots could not be among us. Soon, we will rectify that, and all of our most loyal will reunite once more. For now, however, we will proceed slowly and carefully. Thomas has began work on establishing a political power base, and we will continue to grow support for our side.

"We need to commence recruiting the next generation of Death Eaters. My return must be kept secret for the time being, and you must begin determining who among your family is still loyal to the cause. Each of you will also be assigned several of those loyal to us the last time around. You must reach out to them, and determine if they are willing to serve the cause. If not, they will meet a similar end to Pettigrew."

Several of the Death Eaters paled, and the smallest amount of satisfaction welled up inside him.

"Avery, contact the Carrow twins, and your sister Fiona. Lucius, speak with Crabbe Sr, Robert Goyle, and Mulciber. Severus, you will meet with Karkaroff when he arrives at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Determine his motives and if any other former Grindelwald supporters can be recruited."

The dour man nodded in acknowledgement.

"Nott, contact Rosier, Erik Rowle, and his son Thorfinn. Yaxley, speak with Travers and Nathaniel Parkinson, as well as Alexander's wife, Charlotte. Are you clear on those instructions?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Excellent. Yaxley, you have a question?"

"Yes, my lord. What about the Flints and the Burkes? And what about Gaunt?"

"The Flints and the Burkes will be sounded out later. As for Thomas, he has his own duties separate from your own. You would be wise not to question my will."

Yaxley gulped, and a hint of fear made its way into his expression. "Yes, my lord."

"We also have a new contact in the United States. His name is Dmitry Razalas, and he is an Ilvermorny graduate currently attending the Harvard Institute of Advanced Wizarding Studies."

Severus smirked.

"Does something amuse you, Severus?" he asked, the sounds sibilant against his tongue.

"No, my lord."

"Razalas will be join our cause here in Britain upon finishing his schooling. I expect all of you to extend him the same respect as you do to Thomas."

The assembled Death Eaters nodded, most of them wearing a carefully blank expression

or a look of slight confusion. Severus and Lucius both looked pensive, and he doubted they would ever puzzle out the secret of Thomas Gaunt and Dmitry Razalas. It wasn't that the two wizards lacked intelligence, but rather Lucius lacked the deep knowledge of the Darkest Arts, and Severus lacked the social wherewithal to determine the exact relationship between the three.

Satisfaction welled inside him. This time, he would do it. This time, everything would be perfect. Albus Dumbledore, the muggle-loving fool, would be unable to stop him. He would plot carefully, build power slowly, and by the time they realized he was a threat, it would be far too late to stop him.

A smile played around the edges of his lips once more. He, Lord Voldemort, would reign supreme over Magical Britain, and there wasn't a single wizard who could stop him.

* * *

 _Personal Quarters of Severus Prince_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _17 July 1994_

* * *

Severus could feel the headache building before he even fully arrived in his quarters. His insides were in turmoil, and he immediately quaffed an inordinate amount of Pain Relief Potion before flopping down on one of his armchairs.

He had never thought he would need to do it again. The last war had been exquisite torture as he'd been trapped before two exceedingly different masters, both of whom had extremely high demands of his person.

He didn't think he could do it again. The constant turmoil, the everlasting fear of discovery, of death, of torture. Emotionally, he had allowed himself to become weak. He had been foolish enough to develop feelings, to believe that he, Severus, might be able to find happiness after all.

Severus sneered at his own delusions. There were things many wizards had, such as friends, family, and happiness, and those simply were privileges Severus did not have. He wallowed in self-pity for a moment, and it quickly turned into self-hatred for his stupid whinging and idiotic hopes. The Dark Lord was back. Severus had made the return possible.

He was at fault.

He could only blame himself.

Severus summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and a glass from the sideboard and poured himself a generous portion. He took a sip, and the whiskey burned down his esophagus. He exhaled, and allowed the false flames to lick their way around his lips. Briefly, Severus contemplated getting stupidly drunk, then dismissed the notion. He had serious issues he needed to figure out, and while a glass of Firewhisky would help, drinking the entire bottle would not.

Severus swung his legs down from where they rested over the arm of the chair, forcing himself to sit up properly. He knew where his loyalties lay, but it was his nagging sense of obligation that held him back from freeing himself from the duties his double life forced upon him.

He took another sip of Firewhisky, feeling more than halfway tempted to Floo into Dumbledore's office and tell the old man he was done playing the spy, and that he'd appreciate a lot more gratitude for his work, along with a generous donation to his Gringotts vault and a nice, long holiday.

But, he couldn't do that, of course, emotions and blasted feelings of misguided loyalty be damned. If he didn't spy, no one would, and they'd all be condemned to living the Dark Lord's world. He likely would be fine, given that the Dark Lord seemed to trust him and held him in high esteem. Others, however, would not. Muggleborns would be forced down as second-class citizens, or otherwise obliviated of all memories of their families and forcibly integrated into wizarding society.

While Severus did support some of the ideas proposed by Thomas Gaunt and his ilk, such as the primary schools that benefited all wizards, he was far removed from the hot-headed, angry, idealistic young wizard who pledged himself to the Dark Lord. He'd craved acceptance when he was younger, acceptance, and acknowledgment of his talents. He'd wanted to belong to something greater than himself, and Lucius Malfoy had offered pretty words and dreams of a life were he, Severus, was strong and revered instead of weak and reviled. He had blindly followed Lucius, and shortly after, had come to regret his decision.

Dumbledore thought his betrayal of the Dark Lord solely was because of Lily, and while the potential of her death had been a major motivator, it hadn't been the only reason. It had been the shove he needed to go to Dumbledore, and the culmination of infinite small injustices against his person. He'd expected to treated as an equal among the Death Eaters, and that simply hadn't been the case. Instead of being Severus, skilled in the Dark Arts, he was Severus, that jumped up halfblood who had some skill in magic. Despite all the effort he put in, and despite the fact that he was indisputably one of the stronger wizards, his blood status followed him everywhere.

It was that, and the fact that he didn't have the stomach for killing, that'd changed his mind. He wasn't one for mindless slaughter, and he didn't have a gluttony for torture unlike _some_ of the brethren. Severus had realized, far too late, that he didn't believe in most of the Dark Lord's ideology, and he disagreed with the methods by which the Dark Lord claimed his so-called victories.

He'd been helpless, and the only one he could turn to was Albus Dumbledore.

By Merlin, Severus hated the old man for what he'd done to him, and he hated the situation even more because he knew, had he been in Dumbledore's shoes, he would have done the exact same thing.

Severus sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands. It was perfectly awful, positioned as he was between two masters who happened to be the two strongest wizards of their time. There seemed to be no way forward that lead to his happiness; the only paths he could see lead to his certain death.

Severus' gaze fell onto his glass of Firewhisky, which stood empty on the table. In that moment, his life seemed much like the glass: empty, and mostly worthless.

A knock sounded at the door to his chambers, pulling him out of his maudlin thoughts.

"Come in," Severus said, wondering who else would be in the castle in mid-July.

The door opened, and soft footsteps entered, accompanied by the soft scent of orange and ylang-ylang. Warm arms settled around his shoulders.

"Hello, Severus."

"Aurora," he managed. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I wanted to watch the stars here, and I thought I'd see you. Are you quite alright?"

For a moment, Severus debated lying, then decided against it. "No," he said quietly. "I'm not."

Aurora's thumbs pressed into his trapezius. "You're very tense."

"I just got back from a meeting."

"Hence the Firewhiskey?"

"Mm. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I can't."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Probably not."

Aurora prodded his shoulders for several minutes, and Severus let his head hang, still feeling rather mawkish. Aurora gave his shoulders one final squeeze, then walked off, only to return with Severus' chess set.

Aurora cleared his table with a flick of her wand, and replaced the empty Firewhiskey glass with two steaming mugs of chai tea. Looking satisfied, Aurora set up the chess set. "C'mon, let me at least try to take your mind off things."

Severus straighten up. "I -"

" _Humor_ me, Severus."

"Fine."

"I'm playing white."

"Sure."

"Pawn to c4."

"Pawn to e5."

With that the game began in earnest. Severus was the vastly more skilled chess player out of the two of them, and while Aurora had an advantage playing white and the English opening, she lacked the skill to transition the strong opening to a successful mid game. With his move to e5, Severus ended up playing the Reversed Sicilian. Admittedly, it wasn't his favorite opening, but it was one that allowed him to counter the English with relative ease.

"Castle to h4," Aurora said, uncertainty evident in her voice.

Severus shook his head. "Rethink that. Do you really want to move your rook there?"

"I…" Aurora studied the board for a moment longer. "No, I suppose I don't, because you'll take it with your bishop."

"Right." Severus flicked his wand, and the rook went back to its original square. "Think about what will help you advance your side," he counseled. "You'll have to get better at this - no, _we'll_ have to get better at this," he amended, "if we want to have any hope of making it through what is to come."

* * *

 **A/N: And with that, fourth year begins! There are a bunch of plot lines that tie together in this installment, so get ready for an exciting ride.**

 **Thanks as always for reading and reviewing :)**


	2. Networking, and Other Fun Activities

CHAPTER TWO: NETWORKING, AND OTHER FUN ACTIVITIES

* * *

 _Gringotts Bank_

 _London, England_

 _20 July 1994_

* * *

Ron squinted, and carefully inscribed another rune, stylus scraping gently against the stone. As he'd expected, rune inscribing was incredibly boring. It was hours upon hours of painstakingly chiseling tiny runes into stone tablets, and to be honest, it wasn't his favorite job. Luckily, it paid well, since it was technically a job for an adult wizard. Ron wasn't sure how he'd managed to get it, but he wasn't about to question it due to the large number of Galleons accumulating in his Gringotts account.

Ron stretched, pushed back the sleeves of his green workrobe, and continued to work. As uncomfortable as it'd made him feel, the shopping extravaganza with Harry's godfather had been a godsend. Not only did he have several new casual robes, but Sirius had also insisted on purchasing a very expensive, hand-tailored, Acromantula silk set of dress robes. They were charmed with several extra centimeters of fabric, which would lengthen the robe as Ron grew. Sirius had also bullied him into accepting a pair of hydra leather boots. The man had initially insisted on dragonhide, and it'd taken considerable argumentation on Ron's part to talk him down to the less posh hydra leather alternative.

Tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, Ron etched another rune, thinking once more of the Galleons in his account. He'd be able to help Ginny out a bit more this year. Ginny was extremely independent, but there also were many things she needed that their mum's funds just didn't cover - not that there even were many of those funds left. Mum had been in a downward spiral, and barely had the energy to earn enough money to put a meal on the table. Being at the Burrow was simply depressing, and Ron and Ginny spent as much time at work as possible while Fred and George sequestered themselves in their bedroom. When the four were home, they spent their free time outside playing Quidditch and fighting over who got to ride Charlie's old Shooting Star.

It was somewhat lonely in the Burrow without Percy bustling officiously around. Percy had landed a solid job doing legal work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and was taking classes at the Wizarding College at Cambridge. He'd started renting a flat in London immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. Ron had been there once; it was surprising nice, albeit blandly decorated.

The lunch gong sounded, and Ron quickly finished inscribing the final rune before standing up and heading out to the main lobby. Bill had promised to take him out for lunch, and Ron was thrilled.

Ron didn't have to look hard to find Bill. He stood several centimeters taller than most wizards, a fact that was accentuated by his dragonhide boots, and his hair shone like a beacon. Ron discretely waved him over, and Bill's face split into a wide grin.

"Hey, little brother, how are you?"

"Good. And not so little now," Ron said, noting with pride that he was solidly taller than Bill's shoulder. "I'm probably taller than Percy now."

"Psh. Not that that's really an achievement."

Ron made a face, and Bill chuckled. "We're going to a new Middle Eastern place I found the other day in Sydewaize Alley," Bill said, easily falling into step next to Ron. "They've got some of the best food I've eaten in a long time. Authentic, fresh ingredients, and I'm pretty sure the owners make it themselves instead of using house elves."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

They walked in silence for several minutes.

"So, how's work?" Bill asked.

Ron shrugged. "Eh."

"Boring?"

"By Thunor's bloody hammer, yeah. To be fair, it's what I was expecting, but it's still just so dull. Good money, though."

"Mm. That's unfortunate. It'll be better, though, once you get your O.W.L.s if you want to keep working with Runes. There's a couple of interesting apprenticeship programs you might like. Of course, you also could take the Percy route and go to uni. You've got great marks so far in school, so you can mostly do what you like." Bill looked at him meaningfully, and Ron sighed. He could do what he liked, so long as he took up the Gryffindor lordship. It had seemed like such a fun opportunity at first, but now Ron was beginning to resent Charlie, Fred, and George for shirking their duties.

"This is it," Bill said, gesturing to a small shop. _Merlin's Shawarma Shack_ was emblazoned across the top in white, and a wizard in a bright purple robe with a fluffy beard danced around the letters, even going so far as to charm some of them different colors. "It's pretty great, huh?"

Ron inhaled deeply, and his stomach rumbled. "Uh huh. Can we go eat?"

"Of course."

Several minutes later found them tucked into a booth, large shawarma wraps in front of them. Bill discretely set up a privacy charm.

"So, you like it?"

Ron swallowed his bite of chicken. "Yeah, this is fantastic."

"Good."

They chewed for a moment.

"So, how's life at home?"

"It's…" Ron considered lying for a moment. "...not so good. Mum's been having a real hard time lately."

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "Has it gotten worse?"

"Er…"

Bill looked away for a heartbeat. "Is she going to work, at least?"

Ron shrugged. "Sometimes? I really don't know. You'd have to ask the twins; they're the ones who are home the most."

Bill sighed. "I'll try to send more money your way, then, especially for school supplies. There's going to be a few extra items this year."

"Extra items? Like what?"

Bill waved a hand dismissively. "Never you mind. You have dress robes, right?"

Ron nodded. "Harry's godfather bought me a set. I have boots that go with them, too."

"Good. I want to start bringing you to networking events with me. Political things, just so you can start learning the ropes and are ready to take up your seat once you turn seventeen. I tried to help Percy a bit, but didn't really have time because of work. He's doing alright, though, I mean, he's a right swot about it, which helps… Anyhow, I want you to be polished and set to go. Our family has been through a lot, and Percy and I have been working hard to revitalize the Weasley name. I know that Charlie, Fred, and George care about our family as well, but they don't have the same responsibility and power that we do, being in the public eye."

Ron nodded uncertainly, fully feeling the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders.

Bill smiled tightly. "You're a good kid, Ron. I feel like it's unfair, the amount of work you do and how much responsibility you have in our family. I wish I could change that…"

"It's just how it is," Ron said finally.

"But it's not how it should be."

They ate in silence. It wasn't a particularly uncomfortable silence, but it was one that settled heavily in the air.

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we take Harry to these networking events, too?"

Bill thought for a moment. "I don't see why not."

"Alright. Oh. And one more thing…"

"Mm?"

"You should take Ginny out to lunch here," Ron said, licking the last bits of his wrap off his fingers, "she'll really like the chicken."

* * *

 _Letters Sent Between 20 July and 1 August 1994_

* * *

 _Hey Ron!_

 _How's your summer been so far? Mine's been pretty dull, since I've been stuck at the Dursleys for the past couple weeks. Sirius' house was way more fun, but he hadn't finished cleaning out all the Dark artifacts, so it was a bit dangerous. Plus, his house elf is creepy and really didn't like me. I just finished the summer Runes homework, by Merlin Babbling assigns way to much work. Did you do it yet?_

 _Anyway, do you want to go to the Quidditch World Cup? I asked nicely and managed to get tickets, and they're in the Top Box, too! Do you think Hermione would want to go? I can try to get more tickets, but I don't know how far the Boy-Who-Lived thing will take me. I suppose I could owl the Minister and see if he has any extra. He's always awfully keen to take pictures with me, so maybe I could bribe him with that._

 _Let me know! By the way, I told Hedwig to take your response back since you said Errol has been sick, so if she's waiting around, that's why._

 _See you soon at Quidditch camp,_

 _Harry_

* * *

 _Hi Harry,_

 _Quidditch World Cup tickets? Are you joking? That's crazy, I can't believe you managed to get some, let alone ones in the Top Box. It's suppose to be all sold out! Of course I would like to go, and I think Hermione would be interested as well, but you'd have to ask her. Also, Ginny is very jealous, and she said that you would be her most favorite person if you got her a ticket. Apparently some kid in her year as been bragging about going and lording it over her. No pressure, though, I understand if you can't get any more._

 _I finished the Runes homework a while ago; we should compare answers before we get back to Hogwarts. I got some really weird answers for some of the translations._

 _Can't wait for Quidditch camp,_

 _Ron_

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I know you'll be surprised, but I'm actually already going to the Quidditch World Cup! It was one of the excursions you could sign up for for the summer camp I'm going to, and since it only happens once every four years, I figured it was a cultural experience that I shouldn't miss. Besides, Millie would have hated me forever if I missed out on the opportunity._

 _Of course I already did all our summer work. Why did you think you'd be done sooner than me? You should really make sure to review both elder and younger futhark because we'll be working on the runic applications of spells this year. Hector Umbridge said we won't even use Sumerian cuneiform or Egyptian hieroglyphics that much, but it would be good to review those as well._

 _If I don't see you at the Quidditch World Cup, we should arrange to meet up in Diagon Alley. Maybe you, me, Millie, Lily, and Ron could go get ice cream at Fortescue's? I will owl them and let you know._

 _Have fun at Quidditch camp,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

 _Hi Ron,_

 _Hermione already has a ticket to the World Cup. Shocking, I know. I think I can get a ticket for Ginny. I'm just waiting for someone to owl me back. Also, I saw that you won a big chess tournament in the_ Daily Prophet _. The reporter said it was because Malfoy wasn't there, but that's obviously a load of rubbish._

 _Harry_

* * *

 _Letters Sent Between 10 August and 15 August 1994_

* * *

 _Dear Bill,_

 _Quidditch camp is loads of fun so far. I was worried it would be awkward because Harry pulled a favor to get me here (even if he says he didn't), but it's been fine. He definitely gets special treatment here, and he doesn't seem to realize it, which I guess is good. He's got way posher living quarters, and his roommates are Viktor Krum's younger brother (yes, the Viktor Krum), one of Draco Malfoy's rich cousins, and another super rich kid from France. Apparently they all lived together last year, too._

 _My roommates are fine. They're all older than me and don't talk to me much, but I've been hanging around Harry's cabin a lot. Baptiste Malfoy is a great chess player, so I've been able to get some good practice in. I didn't expect to do that at Quidditch camp!_

 _One of the coaches went to Hogwarts with Charlie, so that was pretty neat too._

 _I've got to go to practice now, I'll write you more later,_

 _Ron_

* * *

 _Dear Bill,_

 _Do you think there will be problems at the Quidditch World Cup because Ireland will be playing?_

 _Ron_

* * *

 _Dear Ron,_

 _I'm glad you're having fun at camp. It sounds like it's been a great experience for you, and a nice break from work. As for your question about the Quidditch World Cup, I honestly don't know. I wish I could tell you that there wouldn't be any problems, but I can't say that for certain. I would keep your wits about you and your wand ready._

 _Bill_

* * *

 _Quidditch World Cup Stadium_

 _Unplottable Location, England_

 _25 August 1994_

* * *

Harry bounced with anticipation, unable to contain his excitement. It was finally the day of the Quidditch World Cup. He craned his neck, trying - and failing - to see over the crowd. The line to get into the stadium was far too long, and Harry was quickly losing patience.

Next to him, Ron chuckled. "We've still got a long ways to go."

Harry scowled up at him. "Just because you're taller than me…"

"...means I get to lord it over you every second of the day? Absolutely."

Ginny snickered.

"Oh, shut it, Ginny."

Ginny stuck her tongue out, and resuming bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly just as excited about the match as Harry was.

Ron glared at them in faux embarrassment. "Calm down, would you? Otherwise everyone will think you're desperate for the loo."

Ginny snickered again. "Do you know what-" bounce "-I'm most excited for -" bounce "Ron?"

"What?"

"Ariadne Ogden and Marcela Marchbanks faces when they find out I was in the Top Box. They thought it was corking that they had seats in one of the towers, but oooh they're going to be _so_ jealous that I was in the Top Box."

Ron frowned. "Just don't lord it over them, no matter how tempting it is. Otherwise you'll come off as tacky."

"Don't tell me what to do! And I'm not stupid enough to do that, anyway. I'll just mention it, casual-like."

"So," Harry interrupted, "who do you think is going to win?"

"Ireland!"

"Bulgaria!"

Ron and Ginny stared at each other.

"Look," Ron said, "there's no way Krum won't get the Snitch."

"Yeah, but Ireland's Chasers are better, so if they build up a good enough lead, then it won't matter if Krum gets it."

"Harry, what do you think?"

Harry shrugged diplomatically. "The Chaser strategy is what we used against Durmstrang, and it obviously was effective. The thing is, I feel like that'll be a lot less effective at a professional level just because the skill gap is likely smaller between the teams of Chasers. Also, if Bulgaria's Beaters are good enough, they'll be able to break up the Irish Chasers, so I really think it's anyone's game."

"So, who're you going to be cheering for?"

"Bulgaria, of course," Harry said, patting his robes pocket where his pennet lay. "I'd be stupid not too, and besides, Stefan would kill me if I didn't."

"Stefan?" Ginny asked.

"Stefan Krum. Viktor's younger brother," Harry clarified. "I know him from Quidditch camp."

Ginny goggled at him. "You know Viktor Krum's brother!? That's almost like knowing a celebrity!"

Ron turned on her. "You know Harry Potter!?" he mimicked. "That's like knowing an actual celebrity!"

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny and Harry chorused.

"I know Stefan, too."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Ginny wailed. "I could have spent the entire past week making plans!"

"Making plans?"

"Er, nevermind about that. Say, we're almost to the front of the line! Isn't that great?"

"Smooth, Ginny. Real smooth."

Ginny elbowed Ron in the ribs, and he squawked indignantly.

Harry smirked at them, which led to a staring contest which only stopped when they reached the front of the line.

"Name and tickets, please," the wizard said, sounding thoroughly bored.

Harry smiled winningly. "Harry Potter. I have three tickets."

The wizard gaped at him, then suddenly remembered his manners. "T-top Box. Just keep climbing stairs until there's none left." He punched their tickets, and returned them to Harry. Once they were out of earshot, Harry turned to Ron. "I hate it when people act like that," he complained as they climbed. "It's so annoying."

"It's the price you pay for being famous."

"Yeah, but I don't have to like it."

"You certainly like getting free Quidditch tickets," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah, but can I have just the perks of being famous? Having people gawk at me is awkward."

"I'm afraid that's just how it works."

Harry mock pouted, and they climbed in silence. The stairs seemed endless, and for once, Harry was grateful for the cross-training workouts at Quidditch camp. At long last, they reached the top where yet another wizard checked their tickets before waving them into the Top Box. It was all Harry could do not to gape like a first year seeing Hogwarts. The view was spectacular, and the Quidditch Pitch was the most beautiful one Harry had ever seen. Silently, he promised himself that one day he would play for England in a stadium as awesome as this one.

"Harry!"

Harry whirled around, then broke into a wide smile. "Stefan! How are you?"

"Good, good. Excited to see Bulgaria beat Ireland, da?"

Harry chuckled. "Of course. Did you see the tiny Viktor Krum statues they were selling back at the campsite?"

Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you didn't buy one."

"Nope. Did you?"

"Vhy vould I vant a small Viktor when the normal one bothers me all the time at home?"

"For the laugh?"

"Meh. Harry, I vant to introduce you to my parents, Daniel and Sofia," Stefan said, gesturing to the couple next to him. Mama, Tatko, this is my friend, Harry Potter."

Harry held out a hand for them to shake. "Pleased to meet you," he said. They both shook his hand.

"Ve have heard much about you," Daniel said, his accent far more pronounced than Stefan's. "I am glad Stefan had a good friend at Quidditch camp."

"It was great to have Stefan as a friend as well," Harry said diplomatically.

"You vill be seeing more of him this year, da?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't believe so?"

Stefan frowned, and whispered something to his parents in Bulgarian. Daniel's forehead creased, then cleared. "My apologies. English is not the easiest."

Harry couldn't help but feel something fishy was afoot. "No worries. Stefan tried to teach me some Bulgarian at camp, and I was absolutely awful at it. Say, Stefan, Ron's here too, and his sister Ginny." Harry beckoned Ron and Ginny over from where they were hanging back. "Stefan, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, Stefan Krum."

"Pleasure to meet you," Stefan said.

Ginny's eyes were wide. "Pleased to meet you too."

They were spared from any more awkward conversation by the arrival of the announcer to the Top Box. Harry, Ron, and Ginny quickly found their seats, which unfortunately were near Draco Malfoy, who was there with his cousin Baptiste and several other platinum blonde witches and wizards that could only be his cousins. Lucius and Narcissa were there too, and talking to other adults instead of their son. Harry didn't blame them, and was quite shocked that they hadn't been alerted to Draco's presence right away.

Harry turned his gaze back to the announcer, who was arguing with a Ministry witch, before glancing towards the door. Immediately, he regretted it. Cornelius Fudge walked in with another wizard in tow, and beamed upon making eye contact with Harry. Harry groaned as Fudge made his way over.

"And here we go again," Harry mutter to Ron, who winced slightly on his behalf.

"Harry!" Fudge greeted him genially, as if they were long-time acquaintances rather than people who had met a handful of time. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well, and yourself?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Fudge said, his genial smile slipping slightly. "I've been escorting the Bulgarian Minister of Magic around," he said in an undertone. "Bloke can't understand a word of English." Fudge turned to the wizard next to him, who was dressed in a rather expensive looking robe of black velvet trimmed with gold. "Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk," he struggled, before giving up on the pronunciation, "This is Harry Potter."

The Bulgarian Minister stared at Fudge blankly.

" _Harry Potter_ ," Fudge tried again, "you know, the Boy-Who-Lived? Come on, you know who he is…"

Oblansk spotted Harry's scar, and recognition crossed his face.

Harry decided to go out on a limb. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Harry Potter," he said in Bulgarian, silently hoping that the words were at least intelligible.

The wizard looked at him in surprise. "I am Andrei Oblansk. You speak Bulgarian?"

It took Harry a moment to piece together what the man had said. "No, I do not. Just a couple words."

Oblansk said something else, and Harry tried for a friendly smile. "Sorry," he said in English. "I don't understand."

Fudge was also looking at him in surprise. "Harry, you're a man of many talents, I see."

"Not really, I-"

"Everyone ready?" the announcer asked, face shining slightly with perspiration. "Minister - ready to go?"

Fudge pulled away from the conversation with Harry with great reluctance. "Ready when you are, Ludo."

The rotund man pointed his wand at his throat. " _Sonorus!_ Ladies and gentlemen," his voice boomed over the din of the stadium, "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Chaos reigned for a moment in the stadium as thousands of spectators cheered and waved their rosettes. The giant chalkboard in front of them cleared of advertisements and instead showed the score: Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National team mascots!"

"That'll be veela," Ron muttered next to Harry. "Shove your fingers in your ears unless you want to make an arse out of yourself."

Feeling slightly confused, Harry stuffed his fingers in his ears as a flock of beautiful women glided out onto the field. They were great dancers, too, Harry noticed idly, and appeared to be chanting, too. For a moment, he contemplated taking his fingers out of his ears - after all, he wouldn't want the veela to think he didn't like their performance - before remembering that he didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Malfoy and the others.

"And now," roared the announcer, "the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Harry removed his fingers from his ears, and watched in amazement as a green-and-gold comet soared into the stadium.

"It's leprechauns!" Ginny squealed, watching in delight and the comet formed into a shamrock and a rainbow arched over the Pitch. Gold coins rained down.

"Don't bother grabbing any," Ron said quickly. "Leprechaun gold doesn't last."

The great shamrock dissolved, and the leprechauns took up a spot across from the veela.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian national Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet blur whizzed out of an entrance at next to the Pitch, and Harry watched it eagerly in the Omnioculars he'd borrowed from Sirius.

"Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand - Krum!"

Harry twiddled the dials on his Omnioculars. Viktor looked exactly like Stefan, albeit with a larger nose. The side of his broom was emblazoned with the word "Firebolt", and Harry felt a twinge of jealousy.

"And now," the announcer continued, "please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaaand - Lynch!"

"Moran - do you reckon he's related to Aoife and Aedan?" Harry asked Ron quietly.

"Yeah, but it'd be best not to mention it," Ron replied. "There's some wizards from Northern Ireland who opted to move across the border, and it's a big sore point for most of the covens."

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

Harry watched eagerly as Mostafa kicked open the crate of balls and sped into the air. After a blast from his silver whistle, Mostafa soared into the air after them.

"Theeeeeeeeeeey're off! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

Harry's eyes were glued to his Omnioculars. He'd thought the English professional teams were good, but even they couldn't hold a candle to the obvious prowess of the Irish Chasers. Harry almost wished he'd brought a notebook to take notes in, but the notion was laughable due to the speed of the game.

Just as Harry predicted, the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, had their work cut out for them. The Irish Chasers were a well-oiled goal scoring machine, and Volkov and Vulchanov had to prevent them from earning more than a 150 point lead. The match quickly became more brutal, each side earning their fair share of fouls. Viktor Krum pulled of two impressive Wronski Feints, and Harry shook his head at the idiocy of the Irish Seeker. Honestly, the Wronski Feint was Krum's signature move.

The game passed by all too quickly, and Harry was more than slightly disappointed when it ended, Bulgaria losing by a mere ten points.

"He had to do it," Ron said, "The Irish Chasers were just too good."

"I know, at least he was able to end it on his own terms."

The trophy ceremony happened quickly, the Irish looking all too smug, with the exception of Aidan Lynch, who had crashed into the ground far too many times. The crowd began to dissipate, and Stefan found his way over to Harry. "Harry - and Ron and Ginny, if you are interested - my family plans to hold a small gathering in our tent for Viktor - just a small thing, away from the fans - and you are velcome to come."

"We would love to," Harry said, grinning.

Ron and Ginny looked like Yule had come early. Harry had the feeling that Ginny would be talking about it for the rest of the summer.

* * *

 **A/N: Some of Ludo Bagman's dialogue has been borrowed from chapter eight of** _ **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire**_ **.**


	3. The Fudge Factor

CHAPTER THREE: THE FUDGE FACTOR

* * *

 _Office Space of Cornelius Fudge_

 _Ministry of Magic, London_

 _26 August 1994_

* * *

Lucius Malfoy neatly crossed his ankles, and tucked them behind a chair leg, resigned, as always, to listen to the useless twaddle of one Dolores Umbridge. It was incredibly frustrating, and not to mention grating to hear her simper endlessly in hopes of gaining the Minister's favor. Even worse, Fudge seemed to be buying her cloying words, and not for the first time, Lucius silently cursed the fact that he was surrounded by complete and utter idiots. Not for the first time, Lucius wished that he could delegate his work to someone else, but, of course, a lesser wizard would be unable to navigate the political waters of the Ministry with the same finesse as him.

Lucius waited patiently as Umbridge continued to blabber on, and when the batrachian witch paused for breath, he interjected smoothly, "Cornelius, I believe we planned to discuss the Triwizard Tournament."

Cornelius started, then flushed a dull red. "I-"

"I believe you owled me regarding concerns about the increased number of students in Hogwarts?" Lucius interrupted.

"Er, ah, yes, I did," Cornelius manages, still flustered. "If I could just find the papers the Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang sent…"

Lucius flourished a copy from his robes pocket. "Do not concern yourself. I have one with me."

Cornelius pauses, midway through ruffling papers on his desk, and Lucius fancies he can see a slight sheen of perspiration on the man's face. "Of course, of course. Always prepared for everything, aren't you?"

Lucius couldn't bring himself to dote, and smiled coldly. "Of course, Minister."

Cornelius freezes for a moment, clearly aware that he made a misstep, but uncertain on how to rectify it. "Very well then. And the Board of Governors decided?"

"It will be no problem to house the foreign students in Hogwarts," Lucius supplied easily. "After all, the school historically housed two thousand students back in the day, and acted as a sanctuary for the villagers of Hogsmeade, besides."

Cornelius looked surprised. "Ah. Is it wise, however, to let them attend classes with Hogwarts students?"

Lucius suppressed the urge to throttle the man. Not only had this particular subject been hashed out over and over again, but it belonged firmly in the realm of the Board of Directors, and had nothing to do with the Minister. It wasn't even a particularly political one - for Merlin's sake, Lucius and Dumbledore were in agreement - but Cornelius kept nattering on about the wisdom of the decision, plagued as he was by xenophobic doubts. Umbridge was likely the source of those particular thoughts, prejudiced as the woman was against anything that wasn't pureblood and English. By Woden's staff, the woman could hardly hold a civil conversation with Aengus Moran or Archibald MacMillan, and both wizards were as pureblooded as they came. Moran could trace his lineage back to the Tuatha Dé Danann, and the MacMillans, like many of the other Scottish clans, claimed the legendary witch Beira, Queen of Winter, as one of their forebearers.

It was an exceedingly foolish prejudice, and one that made the Umbridges unpopular with many on the Wizengamot. Lucius frankly was surprised Dolores had yet to cause a diplomatic disaster.

"Any scheduling concerns have already been addressed by the Board of Governors," Lucius said smoothly, knowing any mention of Albus Dumbledore would only make Cornelius more pigheaded. "Furthermore, one of Durmstrang's Dueling instructors is chaperoning their students, and has graciously volunteered to assist in running a Dueling club for all students. Both the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons faculty have also volunteered to guest lecture in History of Magic and Wizarding Studies classes to provide students with a more well-rounded perspective -"

" _Hem hem._ "

Lucius ignored Umbridge's juvenile attempt at attention grabbing. "Beauxbatons has also opened five places in their summer Potions and Alchemy Symposium to Hogwarts students. They also expressed interest in an exchange program with Hogwarts, pending a successful and politically pleasant Triwizard Tournament."

" _Hem hem_."

Lucius raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Problem, Dolores?"

The woman smiled, and Lucius wondered what she hoped to achieve with such a horrendous facial expression. "Aren't you concerned, Lucius -"

"Lord Malfoy," he corrected idly.

Umbridge flushed an unflattering shade of red. "Lord Malfoy, about these...strange ideas these foreigners might impress upon our children? I'm sure you wouldn't want your son exposed to such outlandish ideas."

Lucius stared at Umbridge coldly. "Narcissa and I considered sending Draco to Durmstrang, and given that he spent the summer with his cousins in France, I doubt he will be 'exposed', as you say, to anything I deem inappropriate under the tutelage of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang instructors."

Umbridge gaped at him, now looking more pescatary than batrachian.

"Cornelius, if you wouldn't mind dismissing your secretary, I have matters of a more confidential nature to discuss with you."

The Minister's countenance quickly shifted from despondent to cheerful. "Of course. Dolores, if you could leave us…"

Umbridge hastily gathered her quill and parchment and left, sending Lucius a look of pure loathing. Cornelius looked at him expectantly.

"Charming woman, your secretary."

Cornelius blinked at the non-sequitur. "Ah, yes, she is quite helpful."

"A bit of an ultracrepidarian, isn't she?"

Cornelius scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Ah, well, I'll admit I've encouraged her a bit. She is rather well-informed, after all."

"Mm. And in the realm of international affairs?"

Cornelius opened his mouth, reconsidered, and shut it. Lucius quirked an eyebrow, and the man had the decency to look embarrassed. "I - she may be somewhat less informed in that regard."

"She is very poorly informed in that regard, and to be frank with you, it's a small miracle she hasn't caused a diplomatic disaster."

Cornelius all but gaped, and Lucius decided to press the man further in order to make him frantic, then offer the perfect solution.

"You recall the most recent Wizengamot Ascension vote, yes?"

"Of course - I -"

"You may recall how House Umbridge barely managed to receive the eight votes necessary to move to the next stage of the process, while Runcorn, which pulls from the same powerbase, received fifteen votes."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Cornelius spluttered.

"Most of the Wizengamot knows that Dolores is the real voice behind her husband," Lucius continued, voice low. "Dolores has managed to insult each pureblood house which isn't mainly English. As you can imagine, for many of us who have cordial relations or family with these Houses, Dolores' comments were not well-received."

"I doubt that. What do you even mean?"

"She refuses to speak with Lord Moon on the account that House Moon claims to descend from the Old Folk, and she also will not speak with Lord Moran or Lord MacMillan because they hail from Northern Ireland and Scotland respectively."

Cornelius looked taken aback. "I was not aware of that."

"Mm. Should I continue on? Her grudge against Lord Greengrass seems to stem from the fact that he and his family are Welsh, as does her dislike for Lord Bulstrode and his ilk. Need I remind you that Dolores has shown a pathological hatred for foreigners, and Lord Bulstrode married a Dolohov?"

Color drained from Cornelius' face. "Merlin and Morgana save me."

"Thankfully, we do not have many diplomatic exchanges with the Tsardom, but is that a risk you are willing to take?"

"By Seaxnēat's sword, no. I remember the war as well as anyone," Cornelius said, eyes wide, "Antonin Dolohov...it took an entire team of Aurors to put him in Azkaban."

"His older brother, Sergei, is the current tsar."

Cornelius nodded in acknowledgement.

"He is perhaps more dangerous than Antonin, because he has the added benefit of ruling an empire, and also being sane."

Cornelius gulped, and Lucius thanked the gods he was so impressionable. "What would you suggest?"

"I have a lead on a young wizard from the States, actually. Ilvermorny graduate, Thunderbird House. He's currently attending the Harvard Institute of Advanced Wizarding Studies, and focusing on International Affairs and Arithmancy. A mutual friend put me in contact with him as he's interested in politics but finds some of MACUSA's policies distasteful."

Cornelius looked intrigued. "And what is his name?"

"Dmitry Razalas."

"Russian?"  
"No, he's an American."

"And you believe he can successfully handle British politics?"

"I would not have recommended him unless I had absolute confidence in his skills."

"Ah. Of course."

"I will pass his résumé onto you." With that, Lucius stood, pulling his robes so they once again lay perfectly on his shoulders. "I'm afraid I must get to another meeting now. It was a pleasure, as always, to meet with you, Cornelius."

"Likewise." Cornelius looked pensive. "You, as always, have been very informative. You've given me a lot to think about."

"If you have queries regarding Dmitry, do not hesitate to owl me. Until next time." Lucius swept out of the room, leaving a somewhat flustered Minister of Magic behind him. Once he was out of view, a smug smile made its way onto his face. Thomas had been rather explicit about his plans regarding Dmitry Razalas, and the importance of landing the man a position in the Ministry.

Admittedly, Lucius had initially been suspicious of the man, despite the fact that both the Dark Lord and Thomas backed him. Razalas, after all, simply was Salazar backwards, and clearly a pseudonym. Any attempts to dig further into Dmitry Razalas' background had been met with resistance, and when Lucius pressed Thomas for answered, he'd simply responded with ' _Dmitry's origins do not concern you. Rest assured that his blood is as pure as mine.'_

Lucius had accepted the answer - after all, he did trust Thomas, but at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder why he wouldn't divulge the younger wizard's secrets. He was also mildly annoyed that Dmitry already had the ear of the Dark Lord. Lucius had fought long and hard to gain acknowledgement beyond being Abraxas' son, and for Dmitry to simply be able to waltz in and be granted the same level of respect as Thomas was absurd, especially given that Dmitry hadn't even graduated from uni yet.

Lucius' smile turned from smug to grim. He would have to work harder in order to keep his spot in the Dark Lord's pecking order. The older wizard held Severus in frustratingly high esteem, and Lucius needed to figure out how to usurp Severus to gain the position of prestige which rightfully belonged to him.

His expression transformed once again into smugness as he strode down the Ministry corridor, thoughts turning towards his family. The twins, Semper and Selene, hadn't shown any signs of magic yet, but that was to be expected given that they were only several months old. Draco, on the other hand, was an entirely different problem. The boy's general countenance had greatly improved during his summer in France, and he'd returned to Britain much more proper and poised than when he left. He was also much more respectful towards Lucius, a change that was mildly baffling, but not unwelcome.

With any luck, Draco's behaviour would continue to improve throughout the school year given that his cousins would also be at Hogwarts due to the Triwizard tournaments. Dorian had pulled several strings to ensure that all of his children would be a part of the Beauxbatons delegation, and Lucius sincerely hoped that Draco would be a helpful host to his cousins during their stay at Hogwarts. It would be beyond embarrassing if another Hogwarts student took on that role, especially given the students in Draco's year that showed significantly more talent and political gumption than him.

Of course, most fourteen-year-olds weren't political masterminds. It wasn't expected of them, and it hardly was realistic for a teenager to understand the nuances that underlaid British Wizarding politics. It was reasonable, however, for them to begin to realize their greater role in society, and begin to form cordial relationships with their future colleagues. Draco, of course, had managed to alienate most of his peer group by playing the fool. For Merlin's sake, Ronald Weasley had a better relationship with Theodore Nott than his own son did, and Theodore and Draco had known each other since infancy.

Ronald Weasley certainly seemed to be a boy that defied the odds. Dorian's second oldest son, Baptiste, spoke well of him, saying Ronald was not only a phenomenal chess player, but also a strong Quidditch player and a good conversationalist. Lucius had spotted the boy with his brother in Diagon Alley and remarked on the mature manner in which he carried himself. Despite his recent improvements, Draco didn't carry the same presence as Ronald Weasley did. Draco gave the air of a child desperately trying to fill an adult's boots while Ronald Weasley simply _was_.

Lucius shook his head ruefully. It certainly was under odd circumstances that a Malfoy preferred a Weasley over his own trueborn son.

* * *

 **A/N: A big thanks goes to LittleDinghy from Reddit for beta-ing!**


	4. Welcome Back

CHAPTER FOUR: WELCOME BACK

* * *

 _Diagon Alley_

 _London, England_

 _28 August 1994_

* * *

"What about this one?"

Hermione blanched. "Please no."

Lily smirked. "But why?" she asked, giving the chartreuse fabric a swirl. "It'd be a flattering color on you."

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into giggles. "You do have proper dress robes, right?"

"Of course. Harry's godfather insisted on buying them for me."

"Ah, so they're nice then."

Hermione nodded fervently. "Acromantula silk, and double-lined. I tried to convince him not to buy them because they were rather expensive, but once he gets an idea in his head, he becomes very mule-headed."

"I extend my sincerest condolences," Lily said, straight-faced. "It must be absolutely terrible to own an expensive pair of dress robes. I don't know how you can bear it."

"Oh, shut it."

They exchanged another look, and once again delved into laughter. "Alrighty, we should probably head out now if we want to meet Millie in Flourish and Blotts."

They took one last look at the garish robes on the clearance rack before piling out of Madam Malkin's. Diagon Alley was crowded, as usual, for the end of August, with parents chivying their children along to buy school supplies and pods of students goggling at the latest Quidditch gear as they clutched large dripping ice creams from Fortescue's. Hermione and Lily expertly wound their way through the crowd, dodging floating shopping bags and avoiding hawkers.

At last, they arrived at Flourish and Blotts. Millie was there already, grinning broadly and excitedly waving hello. Hermione could have sworn the girl had grown by several more centimeters.

"How were your summers?"

"Good!" Lily enthused. "We went to Rome, and saw some pretty awesome gladiator fights at the Colosseum. There were two guys who took down a chimaera, which was incredible."

"The Colosseum?" Hermione checked.

"Yeah."

"Wasn't that destroyed?"

Lily winked. "Only the muggles think so."

Hermione shook her head. "When I think I've learned everything, stuff like this gets

sprung on me. I didn't even know just how awesome the real Stonehenge was until this summer when the camp I went to had a field trip there."

"Eh, you're fine, Hermione. Which camp were you at?"

"The one sponsored by Lord Gaunt."

Lily and Millie exchanged a look that Hermione couldn't quite decipher. "And how was that?"

"It was pretty fun, actually. I even got to go the Quidditch World Cup."

Millie brightened. "Really? What did you think? Did you see Krum? Isn't he just amazing?"

"Yes, it was great, yes, and yes," Hermione said, "I mean, it was Quidditch, but wow, it was good. Definitely a lot more interesting than watching school games."

Millie nodded fervently. "I can only imagine the ideas Harry's going to get for drills after watching the World Cup. Higgs will probably go along with it, too."

"Oomph."

"Yeah."

"Are we going to get our books or just stand here talking?" Lily asked.

"Sorry," Hermione and Millie chorused.

"It was her fault!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing a finger at Millie. "She's the one who started talking about Quidditch!"

"Oi!"

"Alright, alright, so books," Lily interjected. "What do we need?"

Hermione unfurled the school supplies list from her pocket. "Let's see, the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four_ ; _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ ; _Exotic Elixirs for the Intermediate Potioneer_ ; _Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants_ , and I think that's it for core classes, since we're still using the Intermediate Transfiguration book. We need volume two of _Numerology and Grammatica_ for Arithmancy; _An Introduction to Runic Casting_ for Ancient Runes; and, Merlin save us, we'll be using the _Monster Book of Monsters_ again for Care of Magical Creatures."

"Ugh, don't remind me of that horror."

"I was tempted to drop Creatures this year," Hermione admitted, "but I really want it for O.W.L.s next year."

"How'd you not end up in Ravenclaw?"

Hermione smirked. "Magic."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Ha ha."

Hermione stuck her tongue out in a fit of eloquence, and the trio set off into the depths of Flourish and Blotts. Hermione quickly found the texts she needed, then hurried over to the section on Dueling. She'd made significant progress over the past year, which could be largely attributed to Aria Nott. Now that the older girl had graduated, Hermione would once again be on her own, and she didn't think for a moment that Slytherin's resident Blood Purists had changed their minds regarding her. If anything, they would be more skilled than before, which made it even more important that Hermione continued to improve.

Hermione scanned the titles and the tables of contents before deciding on three books: _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_ ; _The Darks Arts Outsmarted_ ; and _Curses and Counter-Curses_. While _Curses and Counter-Curses_ looked to be much lighter reading than the other two, it covered a far wider breadth which would be incredibly helpful for her.

Lily walked up behind her. "That's an aggressive amount of dueling books."

Hermione jumped. "Merlin, you startled me. And no, it's not. This one -" she gestured to _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_ "-is technically a supplementary text for O.W.L. DADA."

Lily gave her a look, and Hermione stared right back, daring her friend to challenge her selection.

"Are you still worried about…" Lily began.

"Yes, and we can talk about it later when we aren't in the middle of a bookstore," Hermione cut in. While she had thoroughly humiliated Atlas Carrow and his cronies the year before, she wasn't going to put anything past them, especially given that there were five of them and one of her.

Lily opened her mouth to respond, but was spared from answering by Millie's arrival.

"I grabbed the last copy of Gwenog Jones' latest book," Millie said, puffing slightly. "Nearly snatched it out of Angelina Johnson's hands. The Gryffindors aren't going to be happy with me."

"...that's great, Mil."

Millie looked between the two of them. "Did I miss something?"

"No, just Hermione's absurd amount of extra book purchases."

"You're one who has the boxed set of the _Mysteries of Hretha_ trilogy," Millie pointed out. "At least me and Hermione bought useful books."

Lily sniffed primly. "Reading creative literature expands the mind."

Millie rolled her eyes. "Sure it does. I swear, if you think Hretha should have ended up with Lazarus instead of Cato, I will fight you."

"...er…"

"You can't be serious! Lazarus is the stupidest character in the series!"

"Well…"

Millie and Lily continued to bicker all the way to the cashier, down the Alley, and didn't stop until they arrived at Fortescue's. Harry and Ron were there already, and tackling the most enormous ice creams Hermione had ever seen.

"We saved you seats!" Ron called, gesturing to their table. "Also, don't try the currant ice cream unless you _really_ like currants."

Hermione nodded at the sage advice, and went off to order herself a reasonably sized triple chocolate cone. They ate in silence for several minutes, savoring the delicious ice cream and trying to avoid drips, since Hermione had decided not to spend the extra three Knuts for a Drip-Free cone.

"So, how was everyone's summer?" Ron asked.

"The Quidditch World Cup was amazing!" Millie gushed as Hermione and Lily groaned in unison. Quidditch was fine and all, but did they really need to discuss the same game sixty times?

After several minutes of heated debate about whether Krum had made the right decision, there was a lull in the conversation, which Hermione used to interrogate Ron about his Gringotts job. The work sounded interesting on a conceptual level, albeit rather dull in reality. Hermione decided she would thoroughly research similar opportunities for herself for the next summer.

"Does anyone have any good advice about what I should do about Sirius?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What'd he do?"

Harry fiddled with a couple of cone crumbs that'd fallen onto the table. "He keeps _buying_ me things. He just got me the latest edition of the Firebolt despite the fact that he got me the first edition last year for Yule, and the amount of Galleons he's spending makes me uncomfortable. I don't need him do any of those things; honestly, just having time away from the Dursleys is good enough."

"Have you tried talking to Sirius about it?"

"Yeah. Kind of. He always says things about making up for lost time."

"Maybe he would be more receptive if you told him it made you uncomfortable?"

Harry didn't look convinced. "Maybe. I could try."

"I wish I had the problem of my relatives spending too much money on me," Ron said, jealousy creeping into his voice. "The only one I have left besides Mum is Great-Aunt Muriel, and she has a tighter grip on her Galleons than a dragon has on its hoard."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

"So, what does everyone think the mandatory dress robes are for?" Lily asked in an effort to change the subject.

"I dunno, but I got new glasses when we were out buying mine," Harry said. "They're charmed with _Impervius_ , so they won't get blurry or foggy when I play Quidditch in bad weather."

Hermione resisted the urge to bang her forehead against the table at Harry's lack of tact and the inevitable turn the conversation took towards Quidditch.

* * *

 _Hogwarts Express_

 _Somewhere, United Kingdom_

 _31 August 1994_

* * *

Harry watched idly as Ron moved forth his knight, clearly on his way to trouncing Hermione in chess once again, much to her obvious displeasure. Lily was curled up in a corner reading a book, and Millie and Theo were engaged in a heated whispered discussion. Theo had beggared his way into their compartment - apparently, Malfoy was acting too strange for words, and Blaise was walking around with a stick up his arse after the events of the summer. Harry had no idea why that was, especially since it was Blaise's mum who'd been dumped at the altar.

"Did anyone hear who the new prefects are?" Lily asked.

"Evan Rosier and Cassandra Parkinson are the new Slytherin prefects," Millie said, abandoning her conversation with Theo. "Pansy's been bragging about it all summer. She thinks she's going to get special privileges because her cousin is in charge."

"Gross."

"I know."

"Anyone know the other houses' prefects?"

"I think it's Marietta Edgecombe and Silvanus Scabior from Ravenclaw," Theo said, ticking them off on his fingers, "Richard Fortescue and Maxine O'Flaherty from Hufflepuff, and Ava MacBeth and Jamie McGonagall from Gryffindor."

"Of course old McGonagall would choose her nephew for prefect," Millie grumbled. "Euan got it in his year, too."

"Grand-nephew," Theo idly corrected. "Jamie is the grandson of old McGonagall's younger brother. Euan is the grandson of her older brother, Moray, the clan head."

"Sounds like they get special privileges," Harry complained.

"Who else would they choose for the Gryffindor prefect in that year? McLaggen?"

"The berk who thinks he's a Quidditch star?"

"That's him."

"Urgh. Thank Merlin he's not a perfect."

"Exactly. It's not as if Slytherin prefect selection is any less biased, anyway," Theo continued. "I don't even know how far back you'd have to go to find a prefect who didn't have a family member in the House of Lords."

Across the compartment, several chess pieces fell to the ground.

"Oi!" Ron complained.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked furious. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

"Only people with strong political connections become Slytherin prefects, or prefects at all?"

Theo looked rather uncomfortable. "Er, it's not a rule persay, just a tendency…"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded.

"Well...ah...purebloods just tend to do better academically, and have more leadership positions in clubs, and such…"

Hermione pounced. "Purebloods do better academically, huh? Yeah, right. If that was true, how in Merlin's name would I have been top in our year in every class?"

"I didn't say always, just tend to…"

Hermione cut him off. "Maybe you should think before you speak, Nott."

"Look, Hermione, you're taking this the wrong way, you know that's not what I meant."

"Hmph. I bloody well better get prefect next year, if good marks are all they're looking for."

"...and leadership…"

"I'll re-establish the Dueling Club or something. Anything to show that muggleborns can be just as good at purebloods."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the compartment, with the exception of whispered chess instructions and quiet cursing from Hermione's direction as she continued to lose against Ron. Harry wasn't sure what to think. Millie, Lily, Theo, and Ron all had the advantage of not only having direct relatives sitting on the House of Lords, but also coming from a long pureblood lineage. As a muggle-raised halfblood with a seat waiting for him on the House of Lords, Harry felt he didn't quite fit in any group, and he also had the added privilege of being the Boy-Who-Lived. Fame was useful sometimes, but Harry was tired of going to Chudley Cannons games with Ron and having everyone in the VIP box bother him for his autograph.

After what felt like ages, it was time to change into their school robes, and pile out of the train onto the blustery platform and into the horseless carriages. Harry pressed his nose against the window of the carriage, staring longingly at the welcoming bulk of Hogwarts looming above them. It'd been far too long since he'd been home.

The Sorting ceremony couldn't come soon enough. A line of small first years made their way across the dais, with one short boy swathed in Hagrid's overcoat. Harry idly wondered if the boy had tried to go swimming, or if the wind had blown him out of the boat.

Harry's stomach rumbled, distracting him from the Sorting Hat's song, which, from the parts he had paid attention to, seemed just as corny as it'd been the previous year.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward. "When I call your name, please sit on the stool and place the Hat on your head to be Sorted. Creevey, Dennis!"

The small boy abandoned Hagrid's overcoat and plunked himself down on the stool.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Del Valle, Carla!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Fergusson, Douglas!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Greengrass, Everard!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Gustafson, Marley!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry quickly lost interest in the Sorting Ceremony, only remembering to clap when 'Kaltwasser, Sylvia,' became a Slytherin. He was too hungry to focus on the Sorting, and far too busy scheming how to convince Millie to lend him the latest Gwenog Jones book. At long last, the line of first years dwindled down to three.

"Slughorn, Elsie!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Thompson, Nigel!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Vance, Elvira!"  
"RAVENCLAW!"

Professor McGonagall made her way back to her seat, and the Headmaster stood. "Welcome back to another wonderful year at Hogwarts. Our staff has several surprises in store for you this year, but I'm afraid those announcements will have to wait until after the feast. For now, I will limit my comments to a few words of wisdom from my good friend and colleague Nicolas Flamel: 'You must learn to question everything. To wait before moving, to look before stepping, and to observe everything.'" Dumbledore sat down, and immediately the tables were groaning with food.

Harry turned to Ron. "What do you think he means by 'several surprises?'"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. We'll find out soon enough. Pass the potatoes, would you?"

Harry passed them, although not before taking a large dollop for himself. The feast seemed to drag on now that there were mysterious surprises in store.

When the main courses cleared away, Harry helped himself to a generous slice of treacle tart as conversation turned once again towards Quidditch. Harry had finally convinced Higgs to have a full team of reserves instead of just a few reserve players for each position when the last of the desserts disappeared and the Headmaster stood once more.

"Now that we are all fed and watered, I have several important announcements to make," Dumbledore began. "Firstly, there will be no Inter-House Quidditch tournament this year."

Commotion erupted in the Great Hall, and Harry looked at Ron in abject horror. "What does he mean, no Quidditch?"

Ron's brow furrowed. "I dunno. Doesn't seem like he's joking, either…"

Dumbledore set off several firecrackers out of his wand to regain silence. "Secondly, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament this year."

Commotion reigned once more, and Hermione leaned across the table. "Is he barmy? The tournament hasn't been held since 1792 after a cockatrice mauled all three school Heads."

Dumbledore set off more firecrackers, and the Great Hall quieted down once more. "For those of you who are unaware, the Triwizard Tournament is a friendly competition between three of the oldest European wizarding schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang."

"Olympus is older," Hermione muttered.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore continued, "the tournament has been discontinued since a particularly unfortunate incident in 1792 involving a cockatrice. Recent negotiation with the respective Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have led to a revival of the tournament along with several adjustments to bring it into the twentieth century as well as avoid high mortality rates. In two weeks' time, delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts, and they will be lodged in the East Wing. I fully expect you to extend them every courtesy, as they will not only have the opportunity to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, but also join our classes.

"Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will bring several of their professors who will guest-instruct classes to offer you new and interesting perspectives. Now, I am certain you all are quite curious about the logistics of the tournament. In the past, only one champion of any age has been allowed for each school, which not only reduced the number of students eligible to participate but also pit less-experienced students against challenges they were not equipped to face, which greatly contributed to the fatality rate.

"For this reason, the Triwizard committee has decided to divide the tournament into three age brackets: third and fourth year students; fifth and sixth year students; and students who are of age. This will allow for three champions per school with one in each bracket.

"For all those not involved in the Triwizard Tournament, we will have other opportunities to foster international competition and cooperation, which includes a Quidditch tournament, a chess tournament, and a dueling tournament."

A buzz of curiosity filled the Hall.

"Madam Hooch will hold an informational meeting about the Quidditch tournament once Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive. Those interested in participating in the Inter-School Chess tournament should speak to Barclay Urquhart, Palin Patil, or Aoife Moran. Professor Runcorn is seeking students with dueling experience to assist with running the dueling tournament. If you are interested, speak to him during his office hours, which are posted on your common room notice boards.

"Before we get into our annual announcements, I would like everyone to extend a warm welcome to our new first and second year Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, veteran Auror Alastor Moody."

A grizzled wizard stood up and glared at them. Several students clapped nervously, but stopped once they realized they were the only ones.

"Professor Moody is highly experienced, and is an excellent resource for anyone interested in the Auror program. Now, for our annual announcements, Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that eight new items have been added to the forbidden items list, which can be found on his office door…"

Harry tuned out the rest of Dumbledore's announcements as his mind spun. This year certainly wouldn't be dull.

* * *

 **A/N: To answer the Guest reviewer's question on the previous chapter about Cornelius Fudge...the reason he's still in power is two fold: it's a case of better-the-devil-you-know, and the fact that the Blood Purists and Traditionalists have a vested interest in having a Minister they can control. Fudge also hasn't had to deal with any incredibly controversial issues, with the exception of Sirius Black and the other "innocent" Death Eaters, and while he certainly isn't a good Minister, he isn't a bumbling fool. Lucius (and many other of the narrators) aren't completely reliable.**


	5. The Middleman

CHAPTER FIVE: THE MIDDLEMAN

* * *

 _Quarters of Severus Prince_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _31 August 1994_

* * *

"You really do have two different faces, you know."

Severus froze, half-way through rinsing the vaguely eucalyptus scented brewers' wax from his hair. Aurora was leaning against the doorframe, eyeing him thoughtfully.

Severus pulled his head out of the sink, hair dripping. "What?"

"You have two different faces."

Severus straightened, jabbing his wand at his hair to dry it. "I heard you the first time. What do you mean?"

Aurora shifted. "You look different when you dress as Lord Prince."

"I do wear different robes. It's not as if I would brew in Wizengamot attire."

"Oh, stop being willfully obtuse."

Severus frowned.

"Your entire countenance is different as Lord Prince, and I think you know that!"

Severus finished tying his hair back. "I quite honestly have no idea what you're going on about."

"I think you do!"

"Stop talking in circles, Merlin damn it!"

They stared at each other for a moment, Severus' temper flaring unexpectedly.

"Sorry," he muttered uncomfortably.

"It's fine. I didn't mean to upset you."

Severus studied his socks for a heartbeat. "I didn't meant to shout."

"It's _fine_."

Severus sighed. "It's just been...stressful lately."

"And the school year has just started."

"Bloody hell, don't remind me."

"So, where are you going, all dressed up?" Aurora asked, tactfully letting the earlier matter drop.

"I have a meeting with Albus."

"What does he want?"

Severus shook his head. "Could be anything," he said, purposely avoiding the question.

"Severus…"

"Please don't push it."

Aurora was taken aback. "Severus...I thought we were past that."

Severus swallowed. "Listen...there's some...topics…I simply cannot speak of, or share with another living soul. We are together, you and I, but there are some things I must do on my own."

Aurora looked hurt. "I -"

"We can talk later." Severus straightened his robes. "I really must get going unless I wish

to be late." With that, he brushed passed Aurora, robes swirling in his wake as his emotions raged in his chest. He desperately wanted to confide in her, to finally come clean, to have her fully understand his situation and to stop needing to hold back.

Unfortunately, that would forever remain a pipe dream. He would never be able to trust another person enough to fully disclose his past, and there was enough that he'd done wrong that Aurora likely would never speak to him again.

Severus paused for a heartbeat, disgusted with his own selfishness. He was a pitiful excuse for a wizard, and a pathetic excuse of a man. His father would be pleased, Severus supposed, with his duplicity. He'd be the only one, and he was two meters underground. Not that Severus cared, of course. He'd been happy when Tobias died; the muggle had been a weight around his neck and a blight on his life.

Severus shook his head to clear it, and continued on to the Headmaster's office. Visits to the Headmaster were, at best, a tedious discussion about the students, and, at worst, an interrogation about the Death Eater's activities. Given that it was the evening of the first day of school, Severus was rather hoping for the former, especially since he had not notified the Headmaster of the Dark Lord's return. Morally, he knew he ought to have told the Headmaster the night of the resurrection - nay, as soon as he had been contacted to brew the loathsome potions - but he simply had not done it, and he wasn't entirely certain why. One voice inside him screamed that it was due to cowardice, and that Severus didn't have the chops to continuing spying. Another shouted that it was selfishness, and Severus couldn't bear to lift a finger for the greater good. The deepest part of him, however, knew it could be attributed to pure tiredness.

Severus was only thirty-four, but he felt decades older. It wasn't exactly a concept he could put into words, and could only be described by the subtle aches in his bones as the weather grew cold, the bouts of ennui that gripped him, and the constant feeling of worthlessness that circled him. If another war broke out, it wasn't a question of if he had the skills to survive, because he knew it was possible. Rather, it was whether he could summon to the will to carry on, to fight the good fight, and continue on between a literal Charybdis and Scylla.

If he chose to inform Albus, he would be risking his existence each day by lying to the Dark Lord, and the situation would be further complicated by his position of Lord Prince. If he didn't inform Albus, the Dark Lord would quietly take over Wizarding Britain, and the entire nation would be doomed.

Everything was different this time around; Severus could feel it deep within the center of his being. The Dark Lord was surprisingly lucid for someone who had spent years as a semi-corporeal being. He was also disturbingly well-informed, and he and Lucius were far more familiar.

There was also the not-so pleasant matter of Thomas Gaunt. When the man had initially risen to political importance, Severus had been suspicious, but more focussed on other aspects of his life. Severus hadn't held a seat in the House of Lords yet, and the information had been concerning, but largely irrelevant. Now that he'd actually met Gaunt, it was a very different story. If old _Daily Prophet_ photos and Severus' own memory served him correctly, Thomas Gaunt looked disturbingly similar to the young Dark Lord, a fact that could not be chalked up to simple coincidence. Severus was fairly certain that the Dark Lord had never had a son, and the wizard was far too suspicious to trust a sibling, which, to Severus' knowledge, he didn't have.

It was a perplexing problem with unsettling implications. It was a given that Dark magic was at play, and Severus almost didn't want to know the secret behind Thomas Gaunt.

Severus stopped abruptly, having reached the gargoyle. After a muttered "Fizzing Whizbee," the gargoyle slid aside, and Severus ascended the stairs, still undecided on what he would tell the Headmaster. Severus had scarcely raised his hand to knock when Albus' voice sounded from within.

"You may enter."

Severus crossed the threshold, brushing aside the feeling of unease that settled on his shoulders. "Good evening, Headmaster."

"Good evening, Severus. Tea? Sherbet lemon?"

"No, thank you."

Albus deftly stirred three lumps of sugar into his own tea. "As you wish." They sat in silence for a moment as Albus sipped his tea and Severus situated himself on his chair. "Tell me, Severus, how are matters on your side?"

"The first year Slytherins are settling in nicely," Severus said, tacitly ignoring the implied question. "And at least a quarter of the upper years have already come to my office in a panic over the latest Defense appointment. Oddly enough, they seem convinced that because Moody violently attacked and incarcerated their parents and cousins, he would extend a similar courtesy to them in the classroom."

Albus looked pained. "I have made it quite clear to him that students must not be blamed for the crimes of their parents."

"Hmmph. Try telling _my_ students that. You're lucky Bartemius Crouch Jr. never reproduced otherwise you'd have half of Hufflepuff crying too."

"Severus!" Albus chided.

"You know it's true," Severus said darkly. "And you know the children have a right to be afraid of Moody. He's not particularly stable, even at the best of times."

"I will have Minerva speak with him again. Now, Severus, tell me, how are matters progressing in the Wizengamot?"

"Tediously. Last session did not manage to finish the preliminary Ascension debate, so it will be continue when we re-convene around Mabon. Lucius is attempting to push a new piece of legislation regulating muggleborn activities, and Lord Gaunt has kept surprisingly mum."

"Regarding what?"

"I'm not certain," Severus half-lied. "I get the feeling he's attempting to marshal support."

"In favor of the Ascension of Rookwood and Runcorn?"

"No. Runcorn is a shoe-in, and he only has to worry about Marchbanks if the Progressives stop getting their panties in a twist about Ogden not receiving a nomination. Something is not right about Thomas Gaunt, and I feel I will soon understand what secret he harbors."

Albus looked pensive. "Could it be related to Voldemort?"

Severus started slightly, then ruthlessly clamped down on his emotions. "Unlikely."

"You know his genealogy as well as I do, Severus, and you know that he has no siblings, and, to the best of anyone's knowledge, bore no children. Yet, Thomas Gaunt is a legitimate heir to the Gaunt seat."

"He could be a cousin."

Albus shook his head. "Impossible. The timeline wouldn't add up."

"Mm."

"Have you heard any news in regards to Voldemort?"

Severus took a breath to steady himself, still hanging in balance between informing Albus and telling a falsehood. "Yes."

"And?"

"The Dark Lord has returned."

"When?"

"July."

Albus' eyes flashed. "And you chose to wait until now to inform me because…?"

Severus didn't have a good answer.

"I'm disappointed in you, Severus. You, of all wizards, should understand the importance."

Severus remained silent.

"Were you planning on informing me?"

Severus raised his head. "I was contemplating it."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and when Albus spoke again, Severus could hear the edge of danger in his voice. "You were...contemplating...it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Such a decision could, once again, jeopardize my very existence. I've grown rather attached to being alive, and not in an excessive amount of pain or duress."

It was the wrong thing to say. Albus leaned forward, eyes blazing. "You, of all wizards, should understand that preventing a second rise of Voldemort is more important than your own personal well-being."

"Perhaps if you paid more attention to my counsel, I would be more willing to risk my life for you and yours," Severus bit out.

Albus leaned back, arms crossed. "I beg your pardon."

"If you truly were dedicated to defeating the Dark Lord, you would have focussed heavily on destroying his allies. Instead of pandering to the Progressives, you should have centered your efforts on the also should have attempted to bring the House of Lords and the House of Commons into some semblance of a power balance instead of leaving the House of Commons as a pitiful consolation prize for the non-noble members of our society! That, not pandering to a party most regard as imbecilic, would have given your position more strength.

"And then, on a completely different side of the problem, there's the bloody Triwizard tournament. If you were worried about the Blood Purists and Traditionalists gaining power, why would you allow Durmstrang to set foot on our soil? How is that under any circumstance a logical, rational decision?"

"Are you quite done?"

"Yes."

"I scarcely feel I need to defend my actions to you; however, I will explain in hopes that you may finally comprehend them. The Progressives are not as misguided as you believe they are, as they are the only party with representation on the House of Lords that pushes for further reforms granting rights to muggleborns. It is important to support all members of our society, especially those who are the most vulnerable, and provide them with the protection and guidance they need to thrive. As for the wide governmental reform you suggested, both you and I know that is not feasible.

"Now, for the matter of the Triwizard Tournament. While I certainly did support the idea, I was not ultimately responsible for bringing it to Wizarding Britain. Furthermore, who is to say that the students from Durmstrang will not learn from our students?"

"And how likely is that?" Severus sneered. "They'll take one look at Creevey with his obnoxious camera, and another look at Malfoy with his scads of Galleons, and it doesn't take Merlin to figure out with whom they will prefer to spend their time."

"Severus, be optimistic!"

Severus stood. "Headmaster, we established a long time ago that I am anything but an optimist. I am a selfish and bitter man, and I do not think I will be able to continuing passing information this war. Good evening." With that, Severus gathered his robes around him, and swept out of the door, the door closing hollowly behind him.

On the other side of the door, Albus Dumbledore sat silently with an aura of sadness around him. "Oh, Severus," he said quietly, "it's only those among us who claim to be selfish and bitter who seldom are."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the long wait between chapters! School has been absolutely crazy this semester. I will try my best to get the next chapter out quicker. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!**


	6. Hermione Rising

CHAPTER SIX: HERMIONE RISING

* * *

 _Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _1 September 1994_

* * *

"Welcome," Professor Scrimgeour said, hands clasped before him, "to fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Last year, we thoroughly covered magical creatures, and common defenses against them. This year will have a significantly more rigorous curriculum focussed on both offensive and defensive magic both to prepare you for your O.W.L. year and for the upcoming dueling tournament."

A murmur of interest passed through the class.

Professor Scrimgeour flicked his wand, sending copies of the syllabus onto each student's desk. "As you see on the syllabus, we have several guest lectures this year. Professor Runcorn will hold several dueling practices during our class time, and will also hold several optional sessions outside of class for those interested in furthering their dueling skills. If you are interested in competing this spring, I highly recommend attending these as both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have established dueling clubs."

Ron sat up straighter in his chair.

"Professor Moody will also give a talk about the Auror corps and speak to some of his experiences out in the field. If you need to be excused from Professor Moody's lecture for any reason, please set up a meeting with me during office hours and we will determine a reasonable makeup assignment."

Ron mentally winced. A significant portion of the Slytherin fourth years had family who'd been put in Azkaban by Moody, and Ron fully expected at least half of the class to be absent whenever Moody guest-lectured.

"Today, instead of discussing the syllabus, which all of you should be capable of reading on your own time, we will conduct a skills evaluation. As some of you may already be aware, the International Dueling League, or IDL, has six divisions of dueling: Bantam, Pixie, Mamba, Hippogriff, Sphinx, and Manticore. While the dueling tournament here will be done by school year, we will use the IDL's standards in today's class. Most of you will fall into the Pixie category, but some may be in either the Bantam or Mamba category depending on how much outside training you've received as well as your natural aptitude for the sport."

Ron ran some quick mental calculations. While he wasn't the best in their year in Defense - that honor fell squarely to Hermione, then to Harry who had an indescribable knack for the subject - he could certainly hold his own against the rest of the Slytherins, although some of the Ravenclaws consistently outperformed him. Malfoy also was disappointingly competent in the class, and could be good if he did his homework earlier instead of strutting around the Slytherin common room.

"According to IDL rules," Professor Scrimgeour continued, "an individual can move into a higher division either from passing a skills test or from winning a certain number of matches within their division. The exact details vary slightly based on whether you subscribe to the Transylvanian rules or the Hohenzollern-Hechingen rules. Of course, there are other styles of dueling, most notably those who follow the standards laid down by ancient Mesopotamian wizards. But I digress.

"Today, I will assess your knowledge of basic spellwork, and, if time permits, we will also hold practice duels. If everyone could come to the front of the classroom, and line up across the room…"

There was a great scraping as everyone pushed back their chairs and made their way to the front of the room. Ron ended up standing between Harry and Theo, and was grateful that he'd be far away from Crabbe and Goyle's attempts at casting as well as Pansy's frequent whinging.

Professor Scrimgeour flicked his wand, and a row of dummies positioned themselves in front of each student. "Please listen closely. I will name a spell, and you will have up to a count of three to perform the spell on the dummy in front of you. Missing the dummy, or miscasting the spell, will result in automatic disqualification. Since most of you should be unfamiliar with this format, the first three spells will be basic material from second and third year defense. After that, I will ask you to return to your desk if you fail to properly cast a spell. Does everyone understand?"

There was a chorus of 'yeses' and nodded heads.

"Wands at the ready…"

Ron drew his wand, and grasped it carefully, ensuring to grip it tight enough that it wouldn't fall out of his hand, but lightly enough so that it could move fluidly through the air.

"Cast the Blindfolding Spell."

" _Obscuro!_ "

"Dancing Jinx."

" _Tarantallegra!"_

"Leg-Locking Curse."

" _Locomotor Mortis!_ "

Professor Scrimgeour nodded in approval. "Good work. Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, you need to work more on the precision of your movements and your aim. Miss Davis, make sure you finish your movements sharply. Miss Bulstrode, hold your wand more lightly; it will not run away from you."

Millie flushed slightly.

"Miss Parkinson, put more force into your wand movements; your wandarm should not resemble a limp noodle. Everyone else, your work is satisfactory thus far. The first part of the evaluation will be the same as what we just did, only I will do a set of five spells instead of three. After the fifth spell is cast, those who did not perform satisfactorily will be asked to return to their seats. Wands at the ready…"

Ron got in the ready position once again, heart pounding in his chest.

"Body-Binding Curse."

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

"Stinging Hex."

" _Ictus!_ "

"Tripping Jinx."

" _Conruo!"_

"Cheering Charm."

" _Es Laetus!_ "

"Disarming Charm."

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Ron stood, slightly breathless, as Scrimgeour paced in front of them. "If you do not know a spell, kindly do not attempt to cast it."

Goyle looked guilty.

"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, Miss Parkinson and Miss Davis, kindly take your seats. I would recommend you all revist the disarming charm. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, please see me after class or during my office hours."

The group walked back to their seats, and Tracy at least looked embarrassed at her shoddy wandwork.

"Wands at the ready…"

Professor Scrimgeour rattled off another series of spells, ending with a Shield Charm. While Ron felt his Shield Charm was passable, it wasn't nearly as good as Harry's, which had manifested as solid-looking pearly sphere, whereas Ron's had a slight waver to it.

"Mr. Zabini, Miss Greengrass, Miss Bulstrode, you may be seated. Mr. Weasley, your Shield Charm barely made the standard. For future reference, if you put more power into the final flick of your wand while strongly focusing on a sense of self-protection, your shield will be more uniform. That goes for you as well, Miss Moon.

"Our next set of spells will move into the fourth year skillset. Wands at the ready…"

Ron grimaced in anticipation. While he had skimmed the textbook, he hadn't extensively studied any of the spells. He was fairly certain Malfoy and Nott had private tutoring over the summer, and Hermione of course was kilometers ahead of everyone else. Harry had an undeniable knack for picking up spells, although he was either very good at them, or impressively bad. There didn't seem to be much of a middle ground.

Professor Scrimgeour snapped out five curses and hexes, all of which Ron recognized, although his Impediment Jinx was rather sad. He found some solace in the fact that Harry's Impediment Jinx was also terrible, and Nott's missed the dummy completely.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Nott, Mr. Potter, and Miss Moon, you may return to your seats. An impressive effort on all your parts, especially considering you have not officially learned any of these spells."

Ron took his seat, watching Hermione and Malfoy with a degree of anticipation. He wasn't surprised that Malfoy was competent, but he hadn't expected him to be on a similar level as Hermione. Ron quietly vowed to work harder outside of class to ensure that Malfoy never outperformed him again.

"Miss Granger, and Mr. Malfoy, wands at the ready…"

Professor Scrimgeour called out a sequence of spells, all of which Hermione performed without even the slightest degree of hesitation. Malfoy paused before doing several of the jinxes, but did surprisingly well on the ones he cast. "Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy, although your Flocking Charm was poorly cast, and you exceeded the time limit on two of the other spells. Five points to Slytherin for a job well done. You may take your seat.

"Miss Granger, you successfully cast the entire set. If you could get in the ready position…"

Hermione stood, wand extended in front of her, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. Professor Scrimgeour barked out the spells at a slightly faster rate, and Hermione easily cast each of them. Instead of stopping after five spells, Scrimgeour continued ruthlessly onwards, shouting the spells quicker and quicker. Hermione's wand snapped precisely through each movement, and she showed no hesitation until the eleventh spell, which Ron didn't even recognize. She wavered for a moment, then cast the spell successfully.

Scrimgeour stopped. "Very impressive work, Miss Granger. Five points to Slytherin."

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement.

"Have you been coached in dueling before?"

"Yes, but not formally."

"Did you train over the summer?"

"No sir."

"Interesting. You may take your seat."

Hermione sat down with a grimace. Ron looked over. "That was bloody incredible."

"Thanks."

Professor Scrimgeour checked his pocket watch. "Given that we only have ten minutes remaining in class, I will let you leave early. Miss Granger, if you could stay for a moment…"

Ron quickly packed up his bag, and followed Harry into the hallway.

"D'you think Hermione's all right?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged, lifting his book bag into a more secure position on his shoulder. "Probably. Scrimgeour likely just wants to know why she's so bloody good."

"I mean, she did beat out the rest of the class."

"Yeah, and by knowing spells that haven't even been taught yet. I read through the textbook, and I didn't even recognize some of the ones Scrimgeour asked her to do."

Harry gave a low whistle. "She really did take things seriously after the whole...you know."

Ron grimaced. The attack on Hermione the previous year had been horrific. Ron vividly remembered standing in the Hospital Wing as Hermione lay in a bed with lacerations across her face. Madam Pomfrey had healed them perfectly, of course, but it'd still been incredibly unsettling. Ron didn't think he'd ever seen Professor Prince as angry as he was after the attack. While Ron's anger typically ran hot, Professor Prince's was glacial. The way he'd stared down the common room and demanded if anyone had known about Atlas Carrow's planned attack on Hermione still sent shivers down Ron's spine. In Ron's opinion, Carrow and his cronies should have been expelled, but certain bribes presumably passed into the Board of Governors had let them slip by with inordinate amounts of detention, and a mere week of suspension for Carrow. It made Ron furious, just thinking about it.

"I know. It was really hard on her, even though the entire House was brassed off at Carrow for making everyone look like stupid bigots. It's hard to understand what it's like for her, being the only muggleborn in Slytherin, and missing out on a lot of the traditions that most wizards know."

"Hey, I was muggle-raised!" Harry objected.

"Yeah, but you're Boy-Who-Lived and the heir to an Ancient House. You get treated quite a bit differently than the rest of us."

"Don't I know about that," Harry said, sounding surprisingly bitter. "I wish...I wish sometimes that I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, or a Potter. I wish I could be just Harry, play Quidditch, and not worry about everyone pretending to be my friend or writing articles in the gossip column of the _Daily Prophet_ over what flavor of ice cream I got at Fortescue's."

"I think everyone wishes they could be someone else sometimes," Ron said tentatively, "but we've got to make the best of what we've got, right?"

Harry nodded. "With any luck, there'll be some mega celebrity who comes with Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, and people won't be bothered with me because they'll be too busy ogling whoever it is Beauxbatons or Durmstrang brings.

"Here's to hoping."

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Ron looked back to see Hermione hurrying down the hallway.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Harry asked curiously.

"Huh? Oh, nothing much. He just wanted to make sure that I'd be planning on participating in the dueling tournament, and that I'd get some good practice in beforehand. If I keep improving, he thinks I could win our age bracket," Hermione said, voice bright.

Ron thought Hermione's voice sounded a bit too bright, and that it was a bit higher than usual, but he kept it to himself. If Scrimgeour had been quizzing Hermione on exactly how she knew all of those spells, it really wasn't his business to know.


	7. Changing Times

CHAPTER SEVEN: CHANGING TIMES

* * *

 _Adelin Meeting Room_

 _Ministry of Magic, London_

 _8 September 1994_

* * *

The problem with board meetings, in Amelia's opinion, was that they were rather dull. A small and selfish part of her regretted forcing her way onto the committee - the meetings were long, and full of semantics. However, each time one of Gaunt's coterie spoke, Amelia's purpose was reaffirmed. After all, it certainly wouldn't suit for the primary schools to turn into a Traditionalist breeding ground, and it was her duty to ensure that all students, regardless of blood status, received a fair and equal education.

Amelia turned her attention back to the presentation the Rowle brothers were giving. The Honorable House of Rowle had a less than glorious reputation that had been neatly swept under the rug after the failed uprising of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The current Lord Rowle, Erik Rowle, had been rumored to be a Death Eater, and his heir and eldest son, Thorfinn, had similar inclinations. Sten, the second son, had been in Hogwarts during the height of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's power, but Amelia doubted he'd be any different than his father and older brother.

Both brothers now taught; Thorfinn taught the Runic Scripts at the London Academy of Magic while Sten instructed History of Magic at the Liverpool Magical Primary. While both Rowles were qualified for their jobs, Amelia couldn't help but wonder how much influence Lord Gaunt had exerted to ensure that his supporters were well-placed. Her theory certainly wasn't hurt by the fact that the Primary School Director Board was headed by Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of one of Gaunt's staunchest allies. Amelia had made her way onto the board via a myriad of convenient coincidences. Each school and each political party was allotted one representative. Amelia had been chosen to represent the interests of the Neutral-Traditionalists because she not only had experience teaching as a former Auror instructor, but also had a child in Hogwarts.

Narcissa Malfoy represented the interests of the Blood-Purist sect in addition to her duties as board director. Athena Greengrass was the Traditionalists representative, and Percy Weasley, oddly enough, had been chosen to represent the Progressives. Amelia thought that was a rather odd choice on the behalf of the Progressive party, as Percy leaned far closer to Neutral-Traditionalist, but he did have the added clout of Lord Prewett as well as an outstanding academic record. The Modernists, thankfully, had not been given a seat on the board.

"School excursions," Thorfinn Rowle was saying, "Not only provide exciting educational opportunities for those who were not raised in Wizarding society, but also provide opportunities to connect what is learned in the classroom to real-world applications. As a Runic Scripts instructor, I often see students struggling to see why Runes are relevant to their daily lives. Excursions to Stonehenge, warding sites, and hillforts help them understand the impact Runes had not only in the past, but also in the present.

"Unfortunately, such excursions are not included in the school's budget and require extra fees. Some parents make the decision not to send their child on an excursion, and the children most affected by this are those from non-magical households."

Sten Rowle stepped forward. "To ameliorate this problem, we propose two solutions for discussion. First, to increase the primary school budget to allow for a per capita allowance for excursions, and second, to add school fees."

The Rowle brothers returned to their seats.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled in acknowledgement, but the gesture certainly didn't reach her eyes. "The floor is now open for discussion. McGonagall."

The Scottish wizard nodded. "Yes. I certainly agree with some of the points Thorfinn and Sten have made. We have also seen a decrease in school excursion attendance for students from non-magical households as well as from less advantaged homes. While I do think a small per student stipend - perhaps on the scale of three Galleons per student - would be beneficial, especially to have in reserve for less-advantaged students, I do not think it is the end all be all solution. After speaking with some of the halfblood and muggleborn faculty members, I learned that muggle school children regularly go on excursions to places of great cultural and historical importance. By rephrasing how we propose our school excursions to the muggle parents, we can help increase attendance without the need to spend more Galleons."  
"Thank you. Moody."

Saoirse Moody stood, and Amelia sent a silent prayer to the gods above that Saoirse wasn't as insane as her great-uncle.

"I agree with Graeme's sentiments, and would like to add that adding school fees would likely lead to decreased enrollment, which certainly would impede our goals. Having a small stipend per student would be beneficial, particularly given the Floo and Portkey fees we need to pay for most of the school excursions. My main concern with that solution is where we would source the Galleons."

"Thank you. Greengrass."

Debate continued over the exact Galleon amount that should be budgeted per students, as well as whether or not the school excursions should be mandatory. Percy Weasley had several strong feelings about that, and had pointed out that if a family struggled to keep food on the table, it was unlikely they could afford extra luxuries like school excursions. More than one committee member had difficulty making eye contact with Percy after that, and it hit Amelia especially hard. Molly and Arthur had been two years ahead of her in Hogwarts, and Amelia remembered how vibrant Molly had been. All of Molly's relationships had been on her own terms, and if her words weren't sharp enough to keep unwanted suitors away, her wand was.

After the death of her brothers, Molly had leaned heavily on Arthur, who'd also been mourning the loss of his siblings. Then, several years later, when everything finally seemed to be going well, Arthur passed, which sent Molly into a depressive spiral. Amelia had seen Molly a handful of times since, and the Weasley matriarch appeared to have aged well beyond her years.

Even after the board meeting adjourned, Amelia couldn't stop thinking about the war. Amelia had lost her parents, both her brothers, and her sister-in-law to Death Eaters, and there were very few witches and wizards who hadn't lost a family member.

It was with a heavy heart that Amelia headed to her second meeting of the day. She'd been surprised when Rufus initially owled her to request a meeting. The Chief Auror was highly competent, and with almost five years of experience, he scarcely met with her outside of departmental meetings.

Amelia had good instincts, and her instincts were screaming with wild abandon. In all likelihood, it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. Amelia knocked lightly on Rufus' office door.

"Come in."

Amelia entered the office and shut the door behind her. The telltale chill of privacy wards washed over her, and Amelia took a seat. "Good afternoon, Rufus."

"Good afternoon, Amelia." Light bags sat under Rufus' eyes, and the steaming mug of tea in front of him spoke volumes about his day. "I called this meeting because I wanted to discuss several concerns with you."

Amelia nodded. "It caught me a bit off guard."

"Mm. It goes without saying that nothing leaves this room?"

"Of course."

Rufus exhaled sharply. "Good. Because nothing I am about to say is particularly decorous or professional, especially given my position as Chief Auror. I am deeply, _deeply_ concerned about our current political situation."

Amelia's heart leapt into her throat. "Do continue."

"I've heard about the latest Ascension debate," Rufus said, thumb fiddling with the handle of his mug, "Runcorn's potential Ascendancy doesn't bother me too much… it's the rumors I've been hearing about Rookwood that do." Rufus' hand stilled. "Is it true that Rookwood is likely to Ascend over Marchbanks, and that the vote will go through?"

Amelia swallowed. "Yes."

Rufus swore quietly. "That's what I was worried about. You see, I'm not only concerned about the number of recent graduates from the Auror Academy, but also their ability to perform in combat."

"You've lost me. I'm not getting the link between Ascendency and war."

Rufus' fingers drummed out a quick rhythm on the edge of his desk. "Look, Amelia, you are free to call me paranoid, but I'm very good at seeing patterns."

Amelia nodded. Rufus had the highest number of cold cases cracked next to Alastor Moody, and his ability to leap from point A to point O, along with his leadership skills, were why he had been appointed Chief Auror.

"In 1972, during the height of the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, there was a surge in the Blood Purist and Traditionalist power base." Rufus paused. "I fear it will happen again."

Amelia felt rather lightheaded. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No. But something similar. I trust my instincts, Amelia, and my instincts say to be ready. There's too many of His former supporters still at large, even if they were allegedly innocent. Now, I know it's not professional or proper for me to say that, but it's the truth. They've got their hands in everything now, if you look carefully enough...seats in the House of Lords, and the House of Commons if you think that even matters. Seats on school boards, and seats next to Fudge, whispering in his ear. There's something brewing, and say what you will, but I don't trust it."

Amelia's head spun. "Rufus...I think you're right…"

"I realize it's a lot of conjecture, but I'm glad you believe me."

"No, it's that there's another factor that supports your theory that you haven't even considered yet. In fact, most people wouldn't consider it, because they don't know about it. Merlin, how could I have been so stupid?"

Rufus made a go-on gesture.

"The wards. The Irish wards."

"You're going to have to extrapolate a bit on that."

"I pulled an old favor to get a trusted source into Ireland," Amelia began. "I wanted her to check the ward lines, just to make sure the Irish weren't trying to move them. All the wardstones were still in place, but the power behind them had been increased. The last time that happened was -"

"-around 1972."

"Yes. And not only that, but the covens are deeply unsettled. The Morholts continue to isolate themselves from the rest of the southern covens, and I have reason to believe that the Sayre Coven and the Rowan Coven are behind the change in the ward schema...although I don't know the reason why. It could be to ensure that Britain stays out of Irish affairs, or it could be to keep certain people...in...Ireland."

"Do you think there could be collaboration between some of the Irish and certain wizards in Britain?"

"By Hretha, I would hope not."

"But you cannot definitively rule it out."

"Yes."

Rufus looked away.

"There's one other thing I ought to tell you, before I forget."

"About the Irish?"

"About the Morholt Coven."

Rufus paled.

"Do you remember the explosion that made the news in 1990? Happened around June?"

"Yes. It was the one that the Irish blamed on the Aos Sídhe, though any fool knew the Aos Sídhe would never cause that type of backlash."

"I was informed that it was the Morholts. Specifically, a ritual performed in Ciorcal na cinn Ársa by three Morholt witches."

"And it rebounded that badly. By Frey and the mighty gods above, what the name of Merlin were they doing?"

"My source wasn't certain, but likely a bastardization of one of the Olde Rituals. Given the witches who went missing, I would guess it was one that channeled the energy of the Maid, the Mother, and the Crone."

The remaining color drained from Rufus' face.

"The three Morholt witches perished during the ritual, and Ciorcal na cinn Ársa scarcely contained the rebound."

"And the three Morholt witches...they were one the ones fulfilling the roles of the Maid, the Mother and the Crone?"

"Again, my source was not certain," Amelia said slowly, regretting her lack of information and hesitance in sharing it. "But there were several things that were clear in the aftermath of the ritual: the Morholt witches attempted to corrupt the ritual to suit some other purpose, the ritual backfired horrifically, and there were four witches in Ciorcal na cinn Ársa."

"Four?" Rufus checked.

"Four. Three Morholts, and one other."

"And does anyone know what happened to this mystery witch?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. But there's no way she could have escaped the ritual unscathed."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter we will jump back into the action with the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.**


	8. New Rivals, Old Friends

CHAPTER EIGHT: NEW RIVALS, OLD FRIENDS

* * *

 _Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley's Dormitory Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _6 September 1994_

* * *

Harry swung his feet idly at his desk as he worked through a veritable mountain of homework. Even though the term had scarcely started, the teachers had already begun to pile on work. Harry had been getting strange dreams, too, but he could never seem to remember them when he woke up. It was quite bizarre, and Harry had the niggling feeling he was missing something important.

Frowning, Harry put the finishing touches on his essay detailing the differences between cats and Kneazles before moving on to the rest of his homework. He had Professor Vance again for Charms, which meant plenty of extra reading. Hermione, of course, was a big fan of Professor Vance's methods, but Harry wished the man was more a fan of practice rather than theory. Ancient Runes was also more difficult this year, as they would not only be delving deeper into the syntax of the runic languages they'd learned the previous year, but also learning how to apply Runes to spellcasting, which Harry found exciting.

The fourth year Herbology professor, Professor Oleander, was regarded as the easiest professor in terms of exams, but was rather fond of handing out group projects. Harry had lucked out and been assigned Neville Longbottom as a partner, who, despite his clumsiness, was a veritable genius at Herbology.

Despite the amount of work that Herbology had piled on with the group project, Potions and Transfiguration had taken the cake by assigning the most amount of work. Both Professor Selwyn and Professor Cornfoot insisted that .s were around the corner, a sentiment that only Hermione and a handful of Ravenclaws seemed to agree with. After Sally-Anne Perks and Wayne Hopkins from Hufflepuff had both melted their cauldrons, and Neville Longbottom had been rumored to have melted a small hole the dungeon floor, Professor Selwyn had substantially increased their workload, and even threatened to have them test their own antidotes if they didn't improve enough by the end of the month.

Harry stretched luxuriously, and proceeded to slog through several Ancient Runes translations before Ron stepped in.

"Dinner, Harry?"

"Yeah. Just let me finish this…" Harry squinted at the runes, and polished off his last answer. "All right, I'm ready."

"Were you doing the Runes homework?" Ron asked as they fell into step.

Harry nodded. "It's not too bad, really."

"Thank Merlin. I haven't even started mine - Professor Boyet loaded us up with an absurd amount of Arithmancy homework."

"In that case, I've never been more glad that I haven't taken Arithmancy."

"Eh, I'm glad I did. It's really interesting, even if it is a lot of work."

Harry elbowed Ron. "You're starting to sound like Hermione!"

Ron elbowed him back. "Oh, shut up."

Harry sniggered, and they made their way into the Great Hall. Dinner, as usual, was delicious, and Harry ate far too much treacle tart afterwards.

Professor Dumbledore stood, and the Great Hall quickly fell quiet. "As some of you may already be aware, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at six o'clock on this Friday, the 9th of September. Lessons will end half an hour early, and students will return their bags and books to their dormitories prior to assembling on the front lawn to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

"Please be aware, that while the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be our competitors during the Triwizard Tournament, they will also be learning alongside us this year. They will be attending Hogwarts classes, living in the West Wing of the castle, and will form part of our Quidditch teams this year. I highly encourage each and every one of you to reach out to a student from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang and not only make them feel at home here at Hogwarts, but also seize the opportunity to learn about their background and culture.

"Details about the Triwizard Tournament, the Quidditch tournament, and the Dueling tournament will be shared with everyone during the Welcoming Feast. Any immediate questions or concerns can be taken to a prefect or your Head of House. Thank you for your attention."

Professor Dumbledore returned to his seat, and a dull roar of conversation was restored in the Great Hall.

"Do you know anyone coming?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded absently, mind busy spinning Quidditch dreams. "Yeah, I think Stefan and his brother are coming, and so's the lot of Malfoy's cousins."

"Wait, _Viktor Krum_ is still in school?"

Harry pulled out of his thoughts. "Yeah, and keep it quiet for now. He's a bit worried about all the attention, you know. Stefan says he justs wants a relatively quiet year and to do well on his exams."

"Well, maybe he shouldn't have come to Britain, then," Ron quipped.

"He didn't have much choice," Harry said idly, mind back on Quidditch. "Politics being what they are. He's got a couple cousins who are right crazy about that kind of thing, and Viktor doesn't want any of them to get brassed off."

Ron looked pensive. "Huh."

"Mmhmm. I'm heading back to our room. I gotta finish the Runes homework and maybe get in some extra practice for Defense. I need to figure out how to beat Malfoy."

The rest of the week seemed to fly by, as assignments were due and Wizarding Studies tried to cram last minute etiquette lessons into everyone's heads. Before Harry knew it, they'd escaped Potions early, and were lining up in front of the castle. The professors walked up and down the lines of students, enforcing order and decorum. Harry watch Professor McGonagall snap at poor Neville Longbottom, whose tie had been crooked, and at the Gryffindor Patil twin, who had a large glittery butterfly in her hair.

Professor Prince made the same rounds through the Slytherins, stopping in front of Harry's group. "Really, Potter, you could have at least done something to make your hair look halfway presentable."

Harry grimaced. "Sorry, professor."

Prince moved on, and Harry was certain he'd seen the man roll his eyes.

"It's nearly six o'clock," Ron said, checking his watch and squinting into the dusky evening. "How do you think they're arriving? I don't reckon they'd take the train."

"A Portkey, maybe?" Harry suggested. "It's not like they can Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds, and we wouldn't be outside if they were using the Floo."

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "Long distance Portkeys make you feel ill, and I don't think they'd want us gathered outside to watch them try not to vomit and fall over."

"Good point." Ron rubbed his arms. "However they're getting here, I wish they'd hurry up!"

Harry nodded, scanning the grounds for any sight of unusual activity. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang both were too far away for broomsticks to be a reasonable form of travel. Harry wondered if they were taking the European equivalent of the Knight Bus when the Headmaster called out from the back row.

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?"

"Do you see them?"

Students craned their necks, looking in different directions in an attempt to spot the Beauxbatons delegation.

"There!" shouted a sixth year. "Over the Forbidden Forest!"

Something large and round was hurtling across the deep purple sky across the Forbidden Forest, growing larger as it approached.

"It's a dragon!" shouted a Hufflepuff first year.

"Don't be stupid! Wizards can't ride dragons!"

"It's blimp!" yelled Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"No, it's a flying house!"

The flying whatever-it-was skimmed the treetops, and drew closer to the castle. Once the lights from the windows hit it, it was clear that while it was the size of a large house, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. A team of elephant-sized winged horses - Harry was pretty sure they were Abraxans - were pulling a powder-blue carriage with a crest of two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars emblazoned on each door.

The carriage landed with a loud thud, causing Neville Longbottom to leapt backwards in surprise, squashing Barclay Urquhart's toes. The Slytherin protested quietly, and quickly shut up when a boy in pale blue robes exited the carriage and unfolded a set of golden steps. He stepped back respectively. An enormous shoe, bigger than Harry's old cupboard door, descended, followed by the tallest woman Harry had ever seen. If he had to guess, she couldn't have been more than a centimeter shorter than Hagrid the Groundskeeper, who was previously the tallest - and largest - person he'd ever met.

The Headmaster started to clap as he made his way through the crowd, and the students quickly followed suit.

Dumbledore kissed the woman's outstretched hand. "My dear Madame Maxime, I cordially welcome you to Hogwarts."

Madame Maxime smiled graciously. "Dumbly-door, I thank you for your welcome. I 'ope you are well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you."

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, gesturing behind herself.

There were a little over a dozen students standing behind Madame Maxime, all dressed in silk blue robes. None of them were wearing cloaks, which Harry found quite foolish since Scottish weather was fairly well known. The younger students were staring up at Hogwarts in awe; the older ones looked apprehensive.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.

"Not yet," said Dumbledore as he scanned the grounds. "He should arrive any moment. Would you prefer to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think. But ze 'orses -"

"Our Groundskeeper will take care of them. I assure you, he is perfectly qualified."

Madame Maxime looked slightly skeptical until Hagrid made his way through the crowd. Idly, Harry noticed he was right regarding their respective heights.

"Very well," Madame Maxime said. "Be aware zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey."

Hagrid nodded in acknowledgement, and Madame Maxime gestured her students forward through the crowd and into the warmth of Hogwarts.

"I hope Durmstrang arrive soon," Hermione said, shifting from foot to foot, "my toes are freezing."

They waited, shivering slightly as the moon rose over the Forbidden Forest. Some students stood watching sky, clearly anticipating another carriage, while others scanned the grounds.

"Do you hear that?" Ron asked suddenly.

Harry strained his ears. "Yeah...sounds a bit like a vacuum cleaner…"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

"Look at the lake!" yelled a Gryffindor.

Harry watched in awe as ripples, then a small whirlpool formed at the center of the Black Lake. A long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the lake, followed by rigging. Moonlight gleamed of the shining black wood as the rest of the ship rose out of the water. It had a skeletal look to it, and Harry fancied it looked a bit like the Flying Dutchman. Dim, misty lights shone from the portholes, furthering the illusion. With a great sloshing noise not unlike a plunger being removed from a toilet, the ship fully emerged from the lake and settled onto the surface of the water. An anchor splashed into the water, and a plank was lowered to the bank with a slight thud.

People began to disembark, and they all appeared to be rather pudgy. As they drew closer, Harry realized they weren't actually large, but rather wearing cloaks of a shaggy fur. The man leading them, presumably Karkaroff, was dressed in far nicer furs in a sleek shade of silver.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily, his friendly tone not reaching his eyes, "How are you?"

"Quite well, as always," Professor Dumbledore said, reaching out to shake the other wizard's hand.

Karkaroff gazed up at Hogwarts. "Ah, Hogwarts, what a sight for sore eyes! How good it is to be here, how good...Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"

Karkaroff beckoned Viktor forward, and a furor of whispers passed through the student body.

Harry looked sideways at Ron. "Viktor's going to be real annoyed. Karkaroff's always trying to show him off...think his fame will rub off on him somehow."

Ron winced. "I see what you mean. And I'm glad I got his autograph at the World Cup this summer so I won't embarrass myself like those idiots over there."

Harry looked over at a pair of witches who were debating whether Viktor would sign their hats in lipstick and winced. "Poor bloke's going to have his work cut out for him."

Ron nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Oh, look, they're finally letting us back in."

They made their way back into the Great Hall where the Beauxbatons students had already established themselves at the Ravenclaw table. "A bit bold, that," Harry noted.

Ron snorted. "Maybe they thought all the blue was for them."

Harry and Ron made their way past the Durmstrang contingent, who were all gathered at the door, clearly unsure of where to sit now that the Hogwarts students were filing into the Great Hall. Harry quickly made eye contact with Stefan, and gestured towards the Slytherin table. The Bulgarian whispered something to his brother, and the Durmstrang students made their way over.

"Oi, budge up, Ron, make space for the Krums…"

Ron scooted over, and both Krum brothers sat down, ignoring some of the jealous glares of the other Slytherins.

"Nice hall you all have here," Viktor said, Bulgarian accent slightly noticeable. "It is much more...artistic than the one we have at Durmstrang."

"And much warmer too," Stefan complained, pulling off his furs to reveal blood red robes, "They told us it would be cold in Scotland. Pffft, you don't understand cold until you have been outside at Durmstrang in the winter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"Who's that?" Viktor asked suddenly.

"Who?"

"The girl, several seats down, with the curly hair."

"Oh, that's Hermione. Hermione Granger," Harry said easily. "Any reason for asking?"

Viktor shrugged. "Not really. She looks a bit like my cousin, that's all. I was wondering if she was related, but I don't think we have any relatives named Granger."

Stefan craned his neck to get a better look. "She does look a bit like Darya, doesn't she?"

"Who do you think they're adding chairs for?" Ron interrupted, looking at the High Table.

Harry took a look. Sure enough, there were four extra chairs added. "Dunno. Two have to be for Madame Maxime and Karkaroff."

"Obviously. But the other two?"

Harry shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

At last, everyone was settled, excluding the two extra chairs at the High Table, and the Headmaster stood.

Professor Dumbledore spread his arms wide, smiling genially. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and most particularly, our honored guests. I am incredibly pleased to welcome you all to Hogwarts, and I hope and trust that your stay here will be comfortable, enjoyable, and educational. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Professor Dumbledore continued. "Now, I invite you to each, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Immediately, the plates filled themselves of food, and while there were the usual assortment of steak-and-kidney pie and toad-in-the-hole, there were several tureens of food Harry didn't recognize, including something that looked like a shellfish stew. Not being an overly adventurous eater, Harry helped himself to the steak-and-kidney pie and amused himself by watching classmates attempt to be sophisticated with the foreign food. Well, most of his classmates, that was. Hermione and Draco seemed to actually be enjoying the shellfish stew, and not simply eating it for social kudos.

They were at least twenty minutes into the feast when the two extra chairs were filled. One was occupied by Ludo Bagman, which wasn't surprising given that the Department of Magical Games and Sports had helped organize the Triwizard Tournament. The other was filled by a thin man with greying hair who Harry quickly recognized as Lord Bartemius Crouch.

"I thought Crouch was fired!" Harry whispered to Ron.

"Shhh! Not so loud. He was, ah, temporarily moved to another department when the scandal with his son blew up again, but he's back with the Department of International Magical Cooperation. They had someone else doing his job for a bit, and realized that while Crouch has gotten a lot of bad press, he's kind of indispensable. At least that's what Percy told me - Crouch is his boss - and while Crouch is a pretentious arse, he knows how to do his job."

"I see."

The desserts came out shortly after, and were just as diverse as the main course. Harry was feeling a bit bolder, and sampled some of the French desserts, which turned out to be quite tasty. Finally, when the last of the desserts vanished from the plates, Professor Dumbledore stood once more.

"Now that everyone is fed and watered, I do believe the moment you all have been waiting for is upon us. Before we bring out the casket -"

A murmur of interest passed through the Great Hall.

"-I would like to say a few words to acknowledge the work that two individuals put in to make this Triwizard Tournament a possibility. Please give a round of appleasure for Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and for Lord Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Everyone diligently brought their hands together.

"Not only have Mr. Bagman and Lord Crouch worked for months on arranging the tournament, but they also will be joining myself, Madam Maxime, and Professor Karkaroff in the judging panel." Professor Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Mr. Filch, if you could bring out the casket."

Filch emerged from the shadows carrying a large, jewel-encrusted casket as the entire Great Hall seemed to hold its breath.

"Mr. Bagman and Lord Crouch have already examined the instructions and challenges that each champion will face during the course of the tournament. There will be four tasks - three individual, and one where you must collaborate with the other two champions from your school for a team effort. These tasks will be spaced throughout the school year, and will test the champions' magical prowess, daring, deduction, and ability to cope with danger.

"Three champions will be chosen from each school," Professor Dumbledore continued, "one from years three to four, one from years five to six, and one to those who are of age. The date of the first task will not be until after the 31st of October, so sixth year students who will turn seventeen prior to then should enter in the 'of age' tournament. The champions will be chosen by an impartial judge, which will not chose select you if you placed your name incorrectly. Now, you must be wondering what is meant by that. May I introduce you to… The Goblets of Fire!"

With that, Professor Dumbledore tapped his wand thrice on the casket and reached deep inside to pull out a large, rough hewn goblet filled with dancing blue flames. He reached inside again, and pulled out two smaller flame-filled goblets, one brilliant silver and the other a rich bronze.

"Anyone who wishes to enter themselves as a champion must write their name and school on a piece of parchment and submit it to the correct goblet; the bronze goblet is for years three and four, the silver goblet is for years five and six, and the wooden goblet is for those who are of age. I strongly discourage cheating, and each goblet will have an age line around it to prevent anyone from entering in the wrong goblet. Aspiring champions will have twenty-four hours to submit their names to the Goblets of Fire, and tomorrow evening the champions will be revealed.

"Before anyone enters their name, I would like to make several conditions clear: firstly, the submission of your name constitutes a magically binding agreement. If you enter your name, you have fully committed yourself to becoming your school's champion if the goblet chooses your name. Secondly, for those of you who play Quidditch, tryouts will be held shortly after the champions are chosen. If you are chosen as a champion, you are still allowed to play Quidditch; however, you will not be eligible to be a team captain.

"The Goblets of Fire will be in the Entrance Hall. Please take the next day to carefully consider whether or not you would like to enter. With that said, I would like to extend one final welcome to our guests, and wish all of you a good night."

There was a mild ruckus as everyone stood. Hermione bustled over to them. "So? Are you going to enter?"

Ron grinned. "You bet!"

Harry thought for a moment. As much as he wanted to captain a Quidditch team, the Triwizard Tournament sounded far more exciting, as well as a chance for him to prove that he was good at something other than Quidditch. Harry grinned broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

 **A/N: Parts of the chapter have been heavily borrowed from chapters fifteen and sixteen of** _ **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.**_


	9. The Champions

CHAPTER NINE: THE CHAMPIONS

* * *

 _Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione Granger, and Lilian Moon's Dormitory Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _7 September 1994_

* * *

"So, did both of you put your names in the Goblet?" Lily asked as she sprawled across her bed, chin propped on her hands. "I put mine in last night."

Hermione looked up from an Arithmancy calculation. "I put mine in last night, too."

"I didn't."

Hermione looked at Millie in confusion. "You didn't? Why wouldn't you?"

Millie shrugged. "Didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Millie shrugged again, shoulders hunching. "Dunno."

"C'mon, there's got to be some reason!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"...so there is a reason, then."

Millie was silent.

"Millie?"

"Don't push it. Please."

"Are you scared of something?"

" _Don't_ push it."

"Is it -" Lily hesitated "-is it something to do with your parents?"

The question hung heavily in the air, and Hermione stopped scratching away at Arithmancy to fully listen. Something had changed in Millie's face; something was missing, and Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"You know I can't answer that question."

"Millie -"

"Don't."

"I just want to -"

"-you're not being helpful."

"I'm sorry, I -"

"-just stop. Please."

Lily opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Slowly, the tension began to seep out of the air, and Hermione turned back to her desk, pretending to work on Arithmancy while her head spun. She had to be missing some crucial piece of information. It made no sense for Millie's parents to forbid her from entering in the Triwizard Tournament.

Hermione closed her eyes in frustration. She knew there was some detail about Millie's family she was forgetting, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was.

* * *

 _12 Grimmauld Place_

 _London, England_

 _7 September 1994_

* * *

It was always dark in 12 Grimmauld Place, and each time he went up or down the main stairs, Sirius could feel the eyes of the dead house elves watching him. He'd nearly murdered Kreacher because the bloody thing wouldn't leave him alone, muttering endlessly, hovering in corners, bloodshot eyes tracking Sirius' every move. It was only through Harry's insistence over the summer that Sirius hadn't offed the deranged house elf, and Sirius was sorely regretting the promise he'd made his godson.

Grimmauld Place was more sinister without Harry's cheerful presence, and Sirius could feel himself sinking deeper into his Azkaban-self. His mind was quick to jump from one downward spiral to the next, sinking deeper into guilt, frustration, falling into gut-wrenching heartbreak which hurt badly enough that it was all Sirius could do to curl up in a ball in his bed and try to forget the world existed.

It was easier, when Harry was around, to ignore his Azkaban-self and pretend everything was normal. Without him...Sirius didn't know if he'd have a reason to keep living. A sharp rap sounded on the window, and Sirius flinched. It was an owl. It wasn't just any owl, however. No, Sirius was far too well acquainted with this particular owl, a regal eagle owl belonging to Lucius Malfoy.

Fingers trembling, Sirius pushed himself out of bed, and unlatched the window. The owl flew in, and stared at him disdainfully before extending a leg. Gingerly, Sirius removed the letter, and broke the seal.

 _Sirius -_

 _While I must respect your privacy and need for recovery after your forced incarceration, I must remind you once more of your civic duties. The Black seat has languished for far too long, and I strongly urge you to take up your rightful place. After all we have done to help you rehabilitate yourself, the only thing I ask is for you to help restore the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black to its proper place in the Wizengamot._

 _Until then, I remain,_

 _Your loving cousin Narcissa_

Sirius let out a slow breath. He'd been expecting worse, far worse, especially given Lucius' proclivity for insidiousness. Narcissa, on the other hand, was family of a sort, which made matters better on one hand, and worse on the other. Sirius knew the Black family inheritance laws as well as his cousin, and he knew Narcissa would be priming Draco to take over the Black seat on the House of Lords when Sirius finally kicked the bucket.

Sirius was almost certain that she was only counting down the days. Although, Draco had been on the outs with the rest of the Malfoys recently, so perhaps Narcissa was hoping Sirius would continue living for a while longer. It was impossible to tell anything when Malfoys were concerned, except for that they clearly expected him to take a strong Traditionalist stance. That was very obvious, and something Sirius wasn't sure he believed in. His parents had been hardlined Blood Purists, and Sirius had by far preferred the more Progressive leaning policies pushed forward by Charlus Potter, Thomas Weasley, and William Prewett.

Then, the Dark Lord happened.

Both James' parents died, briefly leaving him as Lord Potter before Petter _fucking_ Pettigrew murdered him. Out of Thomas Weasley's four children and their families, only Arthur's branch survived, and Molly was the last of the Prewetts, except for Muriel, who no one counted since she had long passed the point of senility. Three great wizards, all a part of the Neutral-Traditionalists that leaned towards the Progressive bloc, had passed through the Veil, and with their passing came a great loss of Progressive power.

Of course, there were still the Abbotts, the Browns, the Flitwicks, and William Weasley was doing his damned hardest to restore his family's power, but none of it was enough. And it was all because of Albus Dumbledore.

Sirius didn't think he hated anyone more than he hated Dumbledore. The wizard had left him to rot in Azkaban without a trial, without so much as a second consideration. How in the name of Merlin had the old man deluded himself into thinking Sirius was guilty? They had dumped the blame on his head just because he was a Black, just as they'd shunned Moony for being a werewolf.

Sirius crushed the letter in his hand. Dumbledore was a self-centered, high-handed git for all Sirius cared, and he longed to see the day that the Headmaster was brought to justice. That act, however, would be tremendously difficult, and as much as he wanted to march up to Hogwarts and give the manipulated arse a piece of his mind, Sirius knew that wouldn't work. Dumbledore would just smile at him benignly, and act disappointed that Sirius wouldn't blindly follow him anymore. No, Sirius had to come up with a cunning plan. A plan that Dumbledore wouldn't anticipate.

Sirius uncrumpled the letter, spreading it smoothly on his desk. Perhaps Narcissa did have a point. Even if she didn't, Sirius knew at least one thing was true: the Malfoys hated Dumbledore just as much as he did.

Sliding into his desk chair, Sirius summoned a fresh sheet of parchment, and an elegant, Self-Inking eagle feather quill.

 _Dear Narcissa,_

 _While I don't wish to admit it, you are right. I will assume my rightful place as Lord Black with one condition. I believe we have a mutual enemy, and I would rather enjoy seeing him meet his well-deserved end…_

* * *

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _7 September 1994_

* * *

Hermione ate mechanically as nerves swirled inside her. All she wanted was for her name to come out of the Goblet of Fire, and she had a sinking feeling that wouldn't happen. Sure, she was the best student academically in her year, but Ron was close behind her, as were Padma Patil and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. Harry was an amazing Quidditch player, and no slouch at Defense or Transfiguration either, and Draco had improved a lot over the summer. There were also the third years to contend with, although Hermione was significantly less concerned about them. Vesper Dearborn was allegedly a Charms prodigy, but was pants at half the other subjects, and Anna Runcorn was a good student, but not nearly as skilled as Hermione.

Lily and Millie kept casting concerned looks across the table, but Hermione ignored them, still worried about the Triwizard Tournament. Even if by some miracle she was chosen, she would still have to contend with the champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Hermione hadn't had the chance to meet all of them in person, but according to the Hogwarts rumor mill, there were several witches and wizards to watch out for. Erik Karkaroff was the Durmstrang Headmaster's son, and quite nasty for a third year. Two of the Durmstrang fourth years, Werner Dietrich and Georg Wiesler, were also notable, and Stefan Krum had actually warned her to stay away from Wiesler. It was rather kind of him, especially since they were only loosely acquainted through Harry.

For someone who claimed to not care much about politics, Harry was very well connected. Not only was he chummy with both the Krum brothers, but he also was friendly with the French Malfoys. There were several other traditional purebloods from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons that Harry had been able to easily ingratiate himself with based off of easy charm and the perk of being the Boy-Who-Lived. It frustrated Hermione to no end as she was certain if she'd tried to introduce herself, they'd quickly dismiss her as an uppity Mudblood.

Hermione picked listlessly at the remains of her dinner. The blatant discrimination against muggleborns was supremely frustrating, and Hermione hoped beyond hope that she would be selected as a champion to prove beyond a doubt that muggleborns could be just as skilled as their pureblood counterparts. Of course, there'd likely be complaints from the Traditionalists, and allegations of cheating, but Hermione was confident she could avoid those. After all, if there was anything she was good at, it was following the rules.

Foot tapping under the table, Hermione absently ate a slice of chocolate raspberry tart, then held her breath as the desserts cleared and Professor Dumbledore stood.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," he began, "it is time for the Goblets of Fire to select our champions." On cue, Filch walked onto the dais, carrying a small table with all three Goblets. Dumbledore clapped his hands twice, and three flags unfurled on the right end of the dais, one bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms, and the other two displayed what Hermione assumed were the crests of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. "If you are called forth as a champion, please come forth to the dais and stand beneath your school's flag so you may be recognized. Kindly remain there until all champions are called."

Hermione was practically vibrating in her seat.

Dumbledore stood before the bronze goblet and waited for a moment until a brilliantly scarlet tongue of fire shot out bearing a slip of paper. "For our third and fourth year tournament, our champion from Beauxbatons will be Talon du Feu!"

A tall boy with long auburn hair rose gracefully from the Beauxbatons table and strode to the front.

Another tongue of crimson flame shot forward. "From Durmstrang, Georg Wiesler!"

Hermione watched Wiesler shrewdly as he walked forward. He seemed rather arrogant.

A third tongue of fire emerged from the Goblet. "And, from Hogwarts -"

Hermione held her breath, unable to move.

"-Hermione Granger!"

Hermione's heart jumped as the Slytherin table erupted in cheers. Her brain seemed to be functioning at half speed, and Ron had to nudge her off the bench. Projecting confidence she didn't feel, Hermione walked smoothly to the front and stood underneath the Hogwarts flag. Du Feu flashed her a winning smile, which Hermione returned, and Wiesler stared straight ahead. Hermione had the feeling he might be one of _those_ purebloods.

Hermione clapped dutifully as Baptiste Malfoy was chosen to represent Beauxbatons in the fifth and sixth year tournament, and Stefan Krum was chosen to represent Durmstrang. Her clapping was far more enthusiastic for Euan McGonagall, who was picked to represent Hogwarts. It was unfortunate that no girls were chosen, but Euan at least was the good sort.

"Lastly," Dumbledore continued, "our champions for the highest age bracket...From Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour!"

The prettiest girl Hermione had ever seen glided towards the dais, flipping long silvery

blonde hair as she went. Hermione quickly became very self conscious of the tendrils attempting to escape her braid.

"From Durmstrang, Viktor Krum!"

The entire hall burst into the most enthusiastic applause yet.

"And from Hogwarts...Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table lost their minds, and didn't calm down until Dumbledore shot several purple firecrackers out of his wand.

"I would like to personally congratulate all of our champions, and thank all of you who entered. For those who were not selected and would like to have an opportunity to demonstrate their skills, keep your eyes open for Quidditch tryouts and an informational session on the dueling tournament. Champions, if you would please follow me into the antechamber. Madam Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, Mr. Bagman, and Lord Crouch, if you will."

Hermione nervously followed Professor Dumbledore into the antechamber. She'd never been in the room before, and it was nicely decorated with simple dark furniture and a small blazing fireplace. The door shut behind them with a feeling of finality, and Lord Crouch stepped forward.

"Congratulations on your selection as Triwizard Champion," Crouch began dryly. "I would like to remind all of you that your selection constitutes a magically binding agreement, and you will be unable to withdraw from the tournament unless you suffer a debilitating injury. Your first task will take place on November 5 and will test your ability to think quickly on your feet. Prior to that, there will be a Weighing of the Wands ceremony as well as a press interview and photo opportunity. If you have any concerns, I suggest that you speak with your school's Headmaster or Headmistress.

"Once again, congratulations on your selection for this historic competition, and I wish you all a pleasant evening."

Crouch melted back into the crowd, and the champions milled around idly. Hermione smiled to herself, butterflies temporarily gone. She was beyond determined to win the tournament, and she would prove, once and for all, that she could be better than any other witch or wizard.

* * *

 **A/N: Just a reminder that this story makes use, and will continue to feature characters who are unreliable narrators.**

 **Also, for those of you who are concerned about Harry getting opportunities, he too will get a moment to shine this year :)**


	10. Reflections

CHAPTER TEN: REFLECTIONS

* * *

 _Salazar Slytherin's Secret Library_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _12 September 1994_

* * *

Ron gave one more half hearted scribble of numbers before sliding his chin down his arm to rest on the cool desk wood. If he was going to be honest with himself, he needed to admit it. Not necessarily out loud, but he had to acknowledge that within the recesses of his mind, he was deeply jealous of Hermione. He'd wanted to be the Triwizard Champion for their age division - wanted it so badly it hurt. He'd wanted a way to prove that he wasn't just another younger brother, and that the Weasley family name still meant something. He'd wanted to uphold whatever was left of the family honor and stick it to all those who sneered down upon him. And now, he didn't have that chance anymore.

Hermione had been named Champion, and she would have the opportunity to prove herself to Wizarding Britain.

The worst part about it was that Ron knew Hermione deserved it. Deserved it more than anyone else in their year, if he was honest. She'd endured bullying and the challenge of transitioning into the Wizarding World, and had done it all with good grace. She'd worked hard, and was consistently top in their year.

Ron sighed, and lay his cheek fully against the desk. The petulant child inside him wanted to stand up and proclaim that it wasn't fair, and that he, Ron, deserved to have an opportunity. After all, he'd suffered as well, and he'd worked bloody well hard to get where he was now.

The small voice in the back of his mind sneered at the thought. He had worked hard, of course, but Hermione had worked far harder at school. She studied more, participated more in class, and if it hadn't been for a chance event, she would have also been taking more electives. Ron, on the other hand, had stagnated. Sure, he was taking challenging classes, he'd improved his Quidditch game, and he'd made plenty of friends in his year and at chess club, but it all felt so terribly childish. Especially given the letter he'd gotten from Bill.

Ron took the crumpled parchment out of his pocket and flattened it on the desk, sitting up straight to read the words he'd nearly memorized.

 _Dear Ron,_

 _I thought I would inform you by owl rather than have you find out in the_ Prophet _. Next Wizengamot session, Charlie is planning on officially giving up his right to take the Gryffindor seat. I know we've discussed this several times, but given that Charlie will swear the proper vows over it, it's likely to blow up unpleasantly. In light of this, George, then Fred are next in line. Both of us know they are not interested in politics, but they have yet to present an official decision on the Gryffindor seat. I have presented them with a deadline - they must make a decision by their seventeenth birthday._

 _Assuming they will officially give up their right to the seat, you will be named as the next in line. While you won't have any official duties until you come of age, I will expect you to attend networking events as well as observe some of the Wizengamot sessions. Percy and I have had some serious discussions lately regarding our family, and should you become the next Lord Gryffindor, you will be included in these conversations._

 _Best of luck at school,_

 _Your brother,_

 _Bill_

Ron laid his head back on the desk as the weight of his responsibilities fully settled over him. He would have to change, whether he liked it or not. He needed to study more, form better connections with his peers, and somehow keep persevering through it all so he didn't lose his bloody mind.

Ron shifted his attention back to his homework, attacking the Arithmancy set with more vigor. Perhaps, if he worked hard enough, he could beat Hermione for the top spot in the class. That, at least, was something tangible he could work towards to stifle his constant feelings of inadequacy. After the champion selection, Ron had holed himself up in the secret library just to be away from everyone. Hermione's moods alternated between beyond excited and beyond stressed. Harry had been quite disappointed at first, but had quickly moved on and submitted his name to captain one of the Quidditch teams.

Ron hadn't even bothered. He'd been too busy moping, and besides, he knew he had no chance of being chosen. There were only eight teams total, and at least one captain would be pulled from each House. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were also allotted one captain, which left just two spots up for grabs. He'd been shocked when Harry had been named a captain, along with Terence Higgs, who'd been slated as Slytherin captain prior to the Triwizard Tournament announcement. Roger Davies and Aoife Moran were tapped from Ravenclaw, and had a major advantage given that both had played in the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament.

Surprisingly, Angelina Johnson was the only Gryffindor named, and Jonathan Abbott was the rather lackluster choice from Hufflepuff given that Diggory was ineligible due to the Triwizard Tournament. Ron wasn't familiar with either the Beauxbatons or Durmstrang captains, Louise du Feu and Katarzyna Mieczkowska, although he was fairly certain Mieczkowska had played in the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament as well.

The tournament would certainly be interesting, especially given that each team was required to have at least two different Hogwarts Houses and at least one foreign student. Shockingly, Dumbledore had decreed that first years would be allowed to try out for the teams, which Ron thought was a stupendously stupid idea given that most of them didn't seem to know how to hold a broom.

Ron sighed. With any luck, he'd get to be on Harry's team, but his hopes were low given that there were plenty of people who were better Keepers than him. With another sigh and a small shake of his head, Ron pushed thoughts of Quidditch out of his mind and thoroughly focused on Arithmancy.

* * *

 _Sybill Trelawney's Private Quarters_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _14 September 1994_

* * *

Aurora's nose wrinkled as she entered Sybill's quarters. In the past, the other witch had dealt with the aftermath of her visions by consuming copious amounts of sherry, but it seemed that she'd found a new method. It wasn't enough for her to question her friendship with Sybill - they'd been casual friends since Aurora had joined the staff almost ten years prior - but it was enough for her to question how much time she really wanted to spend in Sybill's quarters.

She winced at the smell. "Really, Sybill? Cannabis?"

Sybill didn't respond, busy as she was laying out a set of delicate threads suspended between deeply colored crystals. She took another puff, and the pungent odor wafted through the room.

"I'll take overpowering incense any day," Aurora muttered quietly, seriously considering casting a Bubblehead Charm. It would be rude, of course, but it would mean she could breathe properly.

Sybill finished setting up her crystals, and blinked at Aurora as if she'd just registered her presence. She nodded once, then continued wandering around the room, occasionally stopping to caress the curtains or drag her fingers slowing across a tabletop. It was odd behavior, even for her, and Aurora couldn't tell if that was because the future had gotten worse or if Sybill simply wasn't coping well.

Quite honestly, it could have been either. With Sybill, it was difficult to truly tell.

The woman knelt tossed a handful of herbs into the air, and knelt before the ebony table with surprising grace before wordlessly summonly a bottle of sherry and taking a deep drink. Then, and only then, did she lean forward, eyes glazing over as she stared deep within the depths of the crystal ball.

She sat there, frozen, for nearly three minutes before the keening started. It was a high, ululating sound that made the hairs on the back of Aurora's neck stand on end and her toes curl in her shoes. Sybill rocked forward and back, continuing to keen as Aurora's sense of unease grew. There was something deeply wrong inside the crystal ball. Aurora's heart felt too big in her chest, and the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe and she didn't think she could bear another second of unnatural keening when suddenly it stopped. And Sybill spoke.

"Pluto has risen." Sybill's voice was rough and broken. "Pluto has risen. Pluto has risen and the insidious Rahu continues to aid him in his perversions of Magic. The prodigal son has fallen from grace, and Neptune has returned to the shadows. The fates of Mars and Mercury continue to be intertwined and the storm grows stronger with each passing day. It grows and it grows and it grows and it GROWS BUT IT MAY NEVER BE STRONG ENOUGH." The sound tore out of her throat. Sybill gasped for air, hands clenched around the edge of the table. "SHIVA'S GREED WILL NEVER BE QUENCHED AND HE WILL STRIKE DOWN JUPITER JUST AS HELIOS STRUCK ICARUS. THERE WILL BE BLOOD, ONLY BLOOD IF THE CHILDREN OF THE TUATHA DÉ DANANN SUCCUMB TO SHIVA'S WILL, AND NOT EVEN THE POWER OF BEIRA'S SONS WILL SAVE US."

The room was quiet, save for the harsh sounds of Sybill's breathing. "You will warn Jupiter," she said suddenly, panic still on the edge of her voice. "You will warn him that Pluto has returned to the physical realm. Venus will not protect him."

Aurora rose shakily to her feet. "Y-yes, of course -"

Sybill's hands reached out, pinning her wrists together and stopping her from moving. The grip was tight enough that she could feel the small bones crunching.

"Do not breathe a word of this," Sybill whispered, breath reeking of alcohol. "Swear on your life and on your magic that you will not reveal what has just transpired, beyond what I have given permission for you to do." The witch's eyes were wild and staring.

Aurora quickly swore, and Sybill released her. Aurora slumped on the wall, legs giving out.

Sybill eyed her. "Leave my chambers, Aurora," she said, voice softer. "You don't need me to tell you that you have the Grim in your cup."

Aurora all but fled, feet darting down the stairs of the North Tower without consulting her mind. It wasn't until she was halfway to the dungeons that her legs began to give out once again as she leaned against a window, trying - and failing - to ward off a panic attack.

* * *

 _Quidditch Pitch_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _17 September 1994_

* * *

It was a perfect day for Quidditch, Ron reflected happily, gazing up at the cloudless sky. The air had a touch of bite to it, promising colder months to come, but it was chased off by the heat of the early afternoon sun. It looked as if three-quarters of the school had come out to watch tryouts, and a significant chunk of them looked prepared to fly, including a bunch of the first years. Ginny was there too, with several of her annoying friends. Ron fervently hoped they weren't on the same team.

Hefting the Nimbus 2001 he'd borrowed from the Slytherin locker room, Ron surveyed the competition. Ginny was clutching an old Moonflight, which she'd beggared off Bill. It wasn't a good broom by any standards, but it was far better than Charlie's Shooting Star. Harry was in the middle of a captain's meeting with Madam Hooch, and was holding his Firebolt. Both Krum brothers also had Firebolts, and everyone within a ten meter radius was trying not to stare. Oddly enough, Malfoy - Draco, not one of his cousins - had a Nimbus 2001. He'd been bragging in the common room last year about how his father was certain to buy him a Nimbus 2003, at a minimum, if the Firebolts were still backordered. It was patently obvious that Draco hadn't gotten his wish.

A loud whistle blew, jolting Ron out of his thoughts. Madam Hooch stood on a small elevated platform alongside the captains. "Attention! Tryouts for the Quidditch tournament will begin shortly. If you are not planning on trying out, please return to the stands."

Several of the Krum ooglers left, but most of the crowd remained in place. Madam Hooch seemed slightly annoyed.

"Before we begin, I will introduce the captains and explain how tryouts will work. Each team has been named whimsically-" her mouth twisted oddly around the word "- and each captain is well-qualified to do their job. The captains have been given lots which represent the order in which they will choose players for each position. The captains have agreed to a standard tryout for each position, and before those tryouts begin, all of you will need to pass a basic flying skills test administered by me."

Most of the first years and some of the second years looked terrified.

"Now, to introduce your captains...leading the Skipping Cerberi will be Katarzyna Mieczkowska."

A tall blonde girl wearing a Durmstrang jumper stepped forward on the platform, and gave a perfunctory wave.

"Harry Potter will lead the Galumphing Hippogriffs...Angelina Johnson is the captain of the Whistling Nifflers...Roger Davies will lead the Bouncing Unicorns, Aoife Moran is the captain of the Flipping Flobberworms…"

Ron struggled not to laugh at the absurdity of some of the names.

"The Chortling Phoenixes will be led by Jonathan Abbott, Terence Higgs will captain the Dancing Manticores, and lastly, Louise du Feu will lead the Charging Grindylows."

There was a polite round of applause.

"Let's begin," Madam Hooch said brusquely. "The flying skills test will consist of a lap around the Quidditch Pitch followed by weaving through the agility poles in the center. Does anyone have questions? No? Very well. Line up by year...first years, you may go now…"

The majority of the first years were terrible at flying, but several made it through, including two of the Slytherin first years - Nigel Thompson, who was tall and lanky, and Carla Del Valle, who was short and had hair curlier than Hermione's.

Ron breezed through the flying test, as did most of the other upperclassmen, then settled in for a long wait. Tryouts progressed slowly, starting with Beaters. Fred and George were unhappy about being chosen for different teams, and everyone who had played against Fred and George were relieved.

Harry had done fairly well for himself so far. He'd gotten Stefan Krum for his first pick for Beater, and Leila Warrington as his second. While Leila wasn't as good as Millie, she'd grown by leaps and bounds playing in the Slytherin reserves, and always had a positive attitude. Ron had been pleased to note that Millie had been one of the top picks for Beater. Mieczkowska had chosen her, along with another Durmstrang girl who rivaled Millie in height. Millie had grinned the entire time, clearly glad to have realized her dream of having an all-girl Beater team.

The Chasers and Keeper tryouts would be held simultaneously. There were seventeen people waiting to tryout for Keeper, and at least forty waiting to try out for Chaser. Ginny was among them, chatting idly with her friends, Abigaile Johnson and Alexa Spinnet. The three girls had been trying to make their way onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team since second year, but had been unable to beat their older siblings and Katie Bell.

Nigel Thompson was standing around looking nervous as Draco stood nearby with his cousins, Baptiste and Raphaёl. Raphaёl was saying something to Draco, and gesturing towards Thompson. Draco walked over, and much to Ron's surprise, instead of crumpling in sadness, Thompson seemed to perk up. Draco said something, clapped Thompson on the shoulder, and returned to his cousins. Thompson still looked nervous, but had more of an excited energy about him. Ron couldn't help but wonder what Draco had said, and why he was acting so un-Malfoy like.

"Ron, can you pretend we're having a very serious and important discussion?"

Ron started. Euan McGonagall was standing next to him, and looked a bit harried. "Sure?"

"Thank goodness. McLaggen absolutely will _not_ shut up, and I've only just managed to escape."

Ron winced sympathetically. "Is he still going on about how he should have been Champion?"

Euan rolled his eyes. "What do you think? It's _McLaggen_."

"He just doesn't get it, does he? I hope nobody picks him."

"You'd have to be a moron to pick him. Even O'Hare is better than McLaggen, and he's a second year."

Ron snickered at that, and felt the tension start to leave his body. "You've got that right."

"Merlin, he's such an idiot."

Ron was about to respond when Madam Hooch's voice boomed.

"Keepers and Chasers, your tryouts are about to begin. Since there are a lot of you, we will have two rounds - during the first round, each Chaser will have the chance to make three shots, and each Keeper will have a chance to save approximately nine shots. After that, the captains will deliberate, and bring back no more than thirty potential Chasers and twelve potential Keepers. We will repeat the process, then they will make their final decision. Any questions?"

"How will we know when to go?" somebody asked from the back.

"I will announce it. Any other questions? No? I'd like to see Bell, Viridian, and Robins for Chasers, and Davis for Keeper."

Tryouts seemed to fly by, and before Ron knew it, it was his turn. He took a deep breath, hovering between the goalposts. This was it. All his surroundings blurred as he focused in on the Quaffle, saving seven out of nine shots. It wasn't saying much, considering one of the Chasers had never played before. Euan McGonagall also saved seven out of nine, and Ron congratulated him. Cormac McLaggen only saved five out of nine, then complained that Ron and Euan had cheated. Unsurprisingly, no one listened to him.

The captains were conferring quietly now, and Higgs brought a slip of parchment over to Hooch, who nodded in approval.

"Ten Keepers will go onto the next round of tryouts...if I do not call your name, please return to the stands...Petersen, Khurana, Davis, McGonagall, O'Hare, Weasley, Dagworth, Connolly, Boucher, and Dietrich."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and McLaggen began to complain loudly. Several people told him to shut up. Most of them did so equally loudly, and McLaggen stomped off.

"The captains have narrowed the field to twenty-eight Chasers...once again, if I do not call your name, please return to the stands...all three Malfoys, both Johnsons, both Spinnets, both Poliakoffs, Abadjiev, Nott, Robins, Thompson -"

Thompson looked overjoyed.

"- du Feu, Bell, Viridian, Weasley -"

Ginny broke out in an enormous grin, and Ron stopped paying attention.

"- Runcorn, Vance, and Fortescue," Hooch finally finished. There was grumbling among some of the Chasers, but most of them moved to the stands with good grace. Tryouts continued in earnest, as now most of the Chasers were actually good. Ron managed to once again save seven out of the nine shots, which he was rather proud of until he watch Khurana, a tall Indian girl from Beauxbatons, save nine out of nine. Ron was impressed, a bit jealous, and slightly concerned that no team would want him. Of course, there were some people who only saved five or six shots, but it was all a toss up.

The captains had a moment to make a decision, then lined up on the platform. Harry had third pick for Keeper, and Ron could feel his own nerves mounting.

Angelina Johnson stepped up first. "I'll take Khurana." Several of the other captains looked annoyed, but it was an obvious choice. Khurana was clearly the best of the lot.

Aoife Moran was up next, and chose Ulrike Petersen, who was also tall, and had a very severe haircut.

Harry stepped forward, and Ron's heart beat faster. Intellectually, he knew he was one of the better Keepers, but Euan wasn't bad, and Davis was also half-decent.

Harry grinned easily. "Weasley, come join the team!"

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and went to join the rest of Harry's squad. "I wasn't sure you'd pick me," Ron said.

"Why not?"

"Dunno."

"Well, I'd be an idiot not to."

Ron could feel the tips of his ears turning red. "Thanks. So, who are you thinking for Chasers?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "I have fifth, eleventh, and seventeenth pick for Chaser, so hopefully one of Malfoy's cousins or Abadjiev or Bell, then we'll see who's left."

"Did you see that Thompson got through?"

"Yeah. We need to make sure he makes it onto the reserves next year, regardless of if he makes a team. Theo's sister made it through, too. I didn't know Diana played Quidditch."

"I didn't know either."

Harry looked up at the platform. "I've got to go pick Chasers. Stay here; I want to meet with everyone afterwards."

The Chaser pickings went slower. Harry ended up with Baptiste Malfoy, who he was quite pleased with, Ginny, and a second year Gryffindor named Demelza Robins. Higgs had last pick for Chaser and chose Thompson, who was practically bouncing up and down in excitement.

Harry gathered up the team. "Alright, we technically don't need to stay for Seeker tryouts, since I'll be playing Seeker for us, but I think it'd be beneficial to watch, just to size up the other talent. We'll meet here afterwards to discuss."

Most of the team wandered off, and Ron smirked. "You just want to scout for Slytherin for next year."

Harry grinned. "And that, too. But mostly to see if Viktor picked up any new tricks. You should have seen Mieczkowska's face when she realized she had first pick for Seeker."

"Pretty much guarantees she'll make it to semi-finals, huh?"

"Yeah, as long as they don't play us."

"That confident?"

"We did beat Durmstrang in the International tournament," Harry reminded him. "I think we have better Chasers. Mieczkowska is a really good Chaser, but she's got Hector Runcorn and Katelyn Vance with her, and Vance is pretty terrible. And I've definitely gotten better since then."

"She might have better Beaters, though. Millie and Ostrowska? That's a dream team if I ever saw one."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that might be a problem. Stefan is really good, but Millie is definitely head and shoulders above Leila - literally. We'll see, though. She's a quick learner, and I think she and Stefan will work really well together."

Ron nodded. "I trust you."

"I hope I made the right decisions," Harry said, craning his neck to watch the Seekers. "But it's too late to change anything now, so it doesn't really matter."

The Seekers spiraled overhead. Krum was clearly in his own league, but several of the other Seekers weren't bad either.

"Chang's improved a lot over the summer," Harry observed, "and Draco's cousin is pretty good too."

Ron watched Apolline Malfoy execute a long dive. "It must run in the family."

"Mm. Also, Del Valle is really good for a first year. We need to make sure she's in the reserves next year too. Her and Thompson. Make sure I remember that."

"What do you think you'll make captain?"  
"Hopefully. I mean, they might pick Higgs, but if we beat his team in this tournament, I think I have a better shot."

"What about Warrington?"

"Cassius? Nah, he's terrible at coaching."

"Fair."

The Seeker tryouts progressed relatively quickly. Predictably, Mieczkowska ended up with Krum, Diggory was on Abbott's team, which had Harry muttering, "Thank goodness, they need more than two decent players."

Del Valle was the last Seeker picked, beating out a couple of very disgruntled third years for a spot on Angelina Johnson's team. She was even more excited than Thompson had been.

Harry gathered the team by the edge of the stands. Demelza looked very overwhelmed to be standing near the famous Harry Potter.

Harry waited until everyone was seated comfortably. "Hi, everyone, as you all know I'm Harry, and I play Seeker. I'm really excited to be your captain and I think we'll go far in this tournament. Before I go into any details, I'd like everyone to introduce themselves, and say their name along with their position."

They quickly went around the circle. Harry nodded. "Great. It looks like everyone has pretty recent brooms, expect for Ginny and Demelza. If there's a chance you can find something better, that would be excellent, if not, I think I can wrangle some of the Slytherin house brooms for you to use."

Ginny and Demelza both blushed at being singled out, but looked delighted at the prospect of using a Nimbus 2001.

"We are currently scheduled for practice three days a week - Mondays and Thursdays after dinner, and Saturday mornings. Depending on how we're doing as a team, I might schedule more practices. Hooch won't be giving us the match schedule until next week, and I'll pass on that information once I get it. Does anyone have any questions?"

"Do you think we'll have a chance of beating my brother?" Stefan asked, accent slightly pronounced.

Harry grinned. "I was planning on it."

Everyone smiled.

"Alright, I'll see everyone Monday."

The team dispersed, and Ron fell in step next to Harry.

"You know," Harry began, "I have a really good feeling about this team - a good feeling about this year in general, don't you?"

Ron smiled broadly. "So do I. I've got to talk to Raphaёl Malfoy, actually, and see if he's interested in helping organize a chess tournament…"

Harry punched his arm. "You and your chess!"

"You're one to talk; you're obsessed with Quidditch!"

"Oh, shut up, Ron."

Ron chuckled. Everything seemed to be looking up for him, and he couldn't wait for the school year to fully start.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks as always for reading!**


	11. Interviews, and Personal Politics

CHAPTER ELEVEN: INTERVIEWS, AND PERSONAL POLITICS

* * *

 _Unused Classroom_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _27 September 1994_

* * *

Rita snapped her Drooble's Ever-Flavorful Minty-Fresh Gum and surveyed the room. Most of the champions were milling aimlessly around, although several weren't. Rita's eyes honed in on them. The ones who wandered around were usually the boring type - too dull to keep up a conversation, or too nervous to actually settle down. The others, however, were socializing nicely in small groups.

Rita chewed her gum thoughtfully. Cedric Diggory and Euan McGonagall were leaning against the wall, Diggory feigning nonchalance and McGonagall looking relaxed. There wasn't much of a story to spin with Diggory, other than the fact that his father was an obnoxious social climber. Nor was there much to say about Euan McGonagall; he was the grandson of the current clan chief, Moray McGonagall, and the grandnephew of Moray's sister, Minerva. Euan had the classic Scottish good looks - pale complexion, blue eyes, and dark wavy hair. Rita narrowed her eyes in thought. Diggory was quite good looking too, and the pair appeared quite friendly. Perhaps an illicit romance, the stress on Diggory to find a wife and take up his father's social climbing lifestyle despite his desire to have a more wholesome life with the McGonagall heir…

Rita's quill scratched furiously. Perhaps not right away, although she could start laying the groundwork for later rumors, especially if something juicier didn't surface. Rita scanned the crowd once more. Ah, the Delacour girl. Now that was a controversy if Rita knew one. Fleur Delacour was a quarter-veela, and from a prominent French family. Dolores Umbridge practically had an aneurysm anytime the Delacours were mentioned, and Rita had it from a reliable source that Dolores had been removed from a delegation to France for fear that she would cause a diplomatic disaster by insulting one of the Delacours or their friends.

Rita chomped on her gum. If only there was a way to get Dolores and Fleur Delacour in the same room together - now, that would be spectacular, and luckily for her, she could be as subtle as a bug on the wall. Baptiste Malfoy was standing next to Delacour, and Rita quickly dismissed him as yet another snob.

The last group of champions gave Rita pause. Both of the Krum brothers - the oldest, Viktor, looking quite like a large bird of prey - and Stefan, the younger brother, who fortunately had avoided inheriting his brother's overly large nose. Oddly enough, Hermione Granger was standing next to them. It had taken Rita a moment to recognize the girl who'd given her an excellent tip on Gilderoy Lockhart. Granger had clearly found a better hair product, or otherwise had stopped brushing her curls dry like an absolute idiot. Idly, Rita wondered how Granger had ended up talking to the younger Krum before dismissing the thought. Granger had given her good information, and if Rita didn't pry too much into her personal life, perhaps she could get another inside scoop.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Rita jumped, lost as she was in thought. The old wizard was wearing a particularly insipid pair of robes today in a rich shade of magenta with tiny twinkling moons. "If I may have your attention… today, as you know, we will be conducting the Weighing of the Wands ceremony, which will be followed by photos and interviews for the _Daily Prophet_ , courtesy of the lovely Rita Skeeter -"

Rita smiled, and tried to look honest.

"- and her assistant, Bozo. Now, if you could all line up so that Lord Ollivander may weigh your wand…"

Rita paid little attention to the wand weighing ceremony, as wandlore was both esoteric and boring. The only interesting tidbit was that Delacour's wand held one of her grandmother's hairs, which seemed quite scandalous. The French really did have odd ideas about what was socially acceptable.

Dumbledore began to speak again, and Rita forced herself to listen. "If you could devote your attention to Ms. Skeeter, I believe she wishes to begin with photos?"

Rita nodded quickly. "We will begin with individual photos. Line up where Bozo is set up."

The students obediently walked over, although Delacour's walk was closer to a glide. Rita forcibly stifled any feelings of insecurity. It was rather illuminating, watching the students take their photos. Of course, she couldn't focused all of her efforts on observing — while Bozo wasn't completely incompetent, he wasn't the brightest photographer in the department and required significant input from her. Fortunately, most of the champions were easy to photograph - they were all decently attractive, with the exception of Viktor Krum, but he at least knew how to handle photos. Werner Dietrich, the youngest Durmstrang champion, was a different matter. He was a boy with particularly average looks, with the exception of his eyes, which came across eerily blank each time Bozo photographed him.

After the individual shots, it was time for group photos. The photos of each school's champions were easy enough for Bozo, and Rita chewed her gum thoughtfully as she considered possible article angles. Sibling rivalry between the Krum brothers? Definitely a possibility. A love interest between Delacour and another competitor? Also a good option.

Rita drummed her fingers against her thigh. Delacour and Granger, the only two female champions, and on top of that, Granger as the only muggleborn in the competition? Absolutely.

"Any las' pictures yeh want, Rita?" Bozo asked.

"One more - of Granger and Delacour."

Delacour waltzed over, and Granger, who clearly had never participated in a photoshoot before, looked frustrated before composing herself. The girls tried several poses - sitting in armchairs, perched on the edge of the chairs, and standing - but nothing seemed to be working. Delacour was just too damn poised, and Rita would be damned if she didn't get a good photo. Rita's eyes narrowed. If there was one thing that could hold attention for half a second alongside Delacour's beauty, it was Granger's hair, which was currently fastened back in a sensible plait.

Rita aggressively chewed her gum. "Granger, take your hair out of the plait," she said, ignoring the girl's confused expression. "Delacour, stand at an angle to her. No, face the camera a bit more, and step back about six centimeters. Both of you, I want you to look fierce. Like you have something to prove."

Delacour's chin tilted towards the camera, her features sliding into a practiced look of hauteur while Granger lifted her chin, a touch of defiance in every line of her body and hair spiraling wildly out of control.

Bozo started snapping pictures, and Rita discreetly pointed her wand at the girls. " _Ventus_."

A slight breeze surged forward, lifting their hair. It was a moment Rita felt would become iconic.

Several days later, the photo appeared on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , alongside the provocative title _Impartial or Sexist: A Closer Look at the Triwizard Champions_. Of course, photos of the other champions appeared as well, but only in the continuation of the article on page three. A handful of angry wizards wrote letters to the editor about that, and there were a few astonishingly crude letters about how a muggleborn witch and a quarter veela made their way into the Triwizard Tournament. All the other letters, however, were effusive, and Teen Witch Weekly even wanted to know if Rita had other photos from the shoot they could use in a spread. The Triwizard Champions were all Wizarding Britain could talk about for a couple days, and even Rita was surprised at how well her article had done. She would have been even more surprised, however, if she'd known just how far the news had spread.

Thousands of kilometers away, Madelaine Dolohova, née Delacour, delicately picked at her morning croissant in the spacious dining area of Zamok Holodnogo Ognja. A bowl of fresh fruit and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ graced the table in front of her.

Madelaine glanced at the cover of the _Prophet_ and smirked at her husband. "And what do you make of this?" she asked in Russian.

Sergei finished chewing and smiled. It was not a particularly nice smile. "She greatly resembles Viktoriya. Time will tell if she also has her grandmother's talents."

"It certainly would appear that your little cousin is talented."

"Mm. And she does have your cousin to guide her."

"Of course. It is not as if we have a shortage of family currently at Hogwarts."

Sergei nodded, eyes elsewhere. "After this year, we will add one more to the fold."

This time, it was Madelaine's turn to smile.

* * *

 _Wizengamot Chambers_

 _London, England_

 _30 September 1994_

* * *

Percy Weasley was frustrated. Or, perhaps more accurately, frustrated, annoyed, and irritated. When he'd first accepted his job at the Ministry and his place on the Wizengamot as Lord Prewett, he hadn't imagined it would be like this. Instead of working to serve the common wizard, a decent portion of the Wizengamot Lords seemed to view their job as a status symbol rather than an avenue to do good in the world. It was particularly infuriating when the Blood Purists decided to blatantly ignore the former Death Eater accusations which had been levied against House Rookwood, and should have thoroughly disqualified them from seeking Ascendency.

After the most recent vote, the Ascendency candidates were narrowed down to Rookwood, Runcorn, and Marchbanks. Despite the former allegations against House Rookwood, it was the three candidates everyone knew would be the forerunners since the beginning. And yet, the entire process had to be dragged out over the course of a year. It was patently ridiculous.

"And for these reasons," Lord Gamp was saying, "I oppose Lord Gaunt's proposition. While I agree that those who are muggleborn and muggle-raised must be educated about the rich history and culture of our society, I do not believe that the Wizengamot ought to interfere with the rights of minors outside of Hogwarts. Furthermore, I see this as a transparent attempt by Lord Gaunt to funnel more funds into his summer camps as he clearly has a conflict of interest."

"Lord Gaunt, do you wish to reply?" asked the Moderator.

Lord Gaunt smiled. Oh, how Percy hated that smile. Most people were charmed by it, but Percy found it unsettling. "Certainly. Honored lords and ladies, Lord Gamp makes a valuable point - that is, it would be a valuable point if my summer camps were the only solution for which I am advocating. My proposal focused primarily on cultural immersion summer camps funded and sponsored by the Ministry with secondary options of attending a privately funded summer camp with equivalent cultural activities or fostering in a Wizarding family home. As I previously discussed, the objective with this proposal is to educate the muggleborn and muggle-raised on the rich traditions the Wizarding World has to offer -"

The Moderator banged the gavel. "Thank you, Lord Gaunt."

If Lord Gaunt was annoyed at being cut off, he didn't show it. Percy was mildly jealous. It seemed as if nothing could break Gaunt's composure while Percy occasionally got nervous before he even stood to address the Wizengamot. Of course, a lot of it came down to practice and experience, and Percy was the youngest sitting Lord, but it didn't mean he couldn't be envious.

"Lord Malfoy, you are recognized."

Lucius Malfoy walked gracefully to the front, and Percy squashed his inner anger at the man. Malfoy was another Wizengamot Lord whom Percy hated with a vengeance. He was a slippery, smooth talking, immoral arse, and he constantly tag teamed with Lord Gaunt to push Blood Purist and Traditionalist legislation through the Wizengamot. There were even rumors of covert bribes between Malfoy and the Minister of Magic, and Percy had no doubt that it was true. Anyone with half a brain who read the _Daily Prophet_ could tell they were in Lucius Malfoy's pocket...along with most of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

"...and that," Lord Malfoy was saying, "is precisely why Lord Gaunt's plan has great merit. Without proper education, we cannot expect muggleborns and muggle-raised individuals to fully integrate into our society. Who are we, as witches and wizards of privilege, to deny this subsection of our population the experiences they need to become successful? Thank you."

Percy could hear his own teeth grinding. It was despicable, the way Lord Malfoy pushed forward a Blood Purist campaign under the guise of Neutral-Traditionalism. He could see that Gaunt and Malfoy only wanted to bring muggleborns further under pureblood control, and couldn't fathom why the rest of the Wizengamot wasn't protesting more. Sure, there were token complaints from old Lord Gamp, Lord Fawley, and Lord Dagworth, and much stronger complaints from Lord MacMillan, Lord Moran, and the Progressive bloc, but most wizards seemed surprisingly comfortable with Lord Gaunt's proposal.

The Moderator banged his gavel, jolting Percy out of his thoughts. "All in favor of concluding debate for today, light your wands."

Percy glanced at his pocket watch and lifted his lit wand. It really was getting late.

"All those not in favor?"

No wands were raised.

The Moderator banged his gavel. "I declare discussion for today closed."

There was a rumbling as the members of the House of Lords stood and moved towards the exit. Someone tapped his shoulder.

"Percy."

He started slightly. "Bill. You startled me."

Bill grimaced. "Sorry. Amelia Bones wants to speak with us."

"About?"

"You'll find out," Bill said cryptically. "Follow me."

Bill wove through the crowd, and Percy struggled to keep up. Much to his surprise, they didn't head towards the DMLE offices, but rather deeper into the bowels of the Ministry.

"Where are we -?" Percy began.

"Later."

After several twists and turns, they arrived in front of a plain oak door. Bill rapped sharply on it twice with his knuckles, and the door swung open. Feeling more than a bit nervous, Percy followed his brother in. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to lie beyond the door, but it certainly wasn't a well furnished conference room. Lady Regent Bones was already present, along with Lords MacMillan, Moran, and Moon. Oddly enough, Rufus Scrimgeour, the Chief Auror was also present.

Percy took a deep breath to calm himself as Bones cast a complex locking charm on the door.

"You may be wondering," Bones began, "why we called you here for a meeting. Before we begin, I will require an oath of secrecy from each of you, as the matters we will discuss not only contain a certain degree of speculation but also may jeopardize the future of Wizarding Britain."

Percy looked at Bill, who nodded. Given that there was nothing objectionable in the oath, the group quickly swore it.

Bones took a breath, and continued. "There is something wrong in Ireland," she began. Lord Moran looked as if he wished to object, and Bones held up a hand to silence him. "Not in Northern Ireland, but in _Ireland_. The wardstones haven't changed, but the power behind them has greatly increased. The last time this happened was in 1972."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.

"The Morholt coven has reportedly isolated themselves from the other covens, and their motivation remains unclear."

Lord Moran paled.

"I have a … source who believes the Sayre and Rowen covens are behind the change in the ward schema," Bones continued. "The Quirke and Quigley covens are thought to be neutral in scenario."

Lord Moran rested his head in his hands, fingers massaging his temples.

"Rufus brought it to my attention that support for Blood Purist and Traditionalist legislation has increased recently, and the last time we saw a surge this strong was in 1972, just prior to the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Lord MacMillan swore, and Percy stared at Bill, goosebumps running down his spine.

"Is it Him, then?" Percy heard his voice ask.

Silence hung in the air for a moment too long. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was killed nearly thirteen years ago," Scrimgeour said finally.

Lord MacMillan ran a hand through his silver stained red hair. "Do you believe that?"

"Yes."

"But?"

Scrimgeour sighed. "Recently, there have been attacks...attacks disturbingly similar to the ones that broke out in the winter of '75."

MacMillan and Moran looked horrified, and Percy was overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom.

"And for those of us who were children then," Bill began, "what sort of attacks are these?"

Scrimgeour just looked at him, eyes dead. "Attacks against muggles. Gruesome attacks against muggles. Not very many, and not very often, but we've found dead muggles with all their internal organs removed. Either that, or all the skin was removed."

Percy almost threw up.

* * *

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _6 October 1994_

* * *

Hermione fidgeted again, usually filled with nervous energy. It wasn't even as if anything big was happening - a lot of the gossip over the Goblet of Fire's choices and the ensuring _Daily Prophet_ article and _Teen Witch Weekly_ spread had finally died down. It was, however, the informational session on the dueling tournament. The Great Hall was filled with people, and it seemed like over half the school had shown up, along with all the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Hermione and Lily had to engage in some serious cajoling to convince Millie to show up, and the taller girl looked generally uncomfortable.

Millie looked uneasy most times, Hermione realized. The thought was rather discomfiting, especially when it dawned on her that Millie's odd behavior had started at the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It was strange, and somewhat disturbing, and Hermione made a mental note to talk to Lily about it later.

Hermione craned her neck as Professor Runcorn strode out onto the dais. She'd only interacted with him a couple times during the Slytherin-only supplementary DADA classes second year that Professor Prince had organized due to Lockhart's gross incompetence. Professor Runcorn had been very competent, and Hermione was glad he was in charge of the dueling tournament.

"Can everyone hear me?" Professor Runcorn asked, voice booming across the Great Hall. "Yes? Excellent. I am Professor Runcorn, and I am the Hogwarts dueling professor. I will be the lead coordinator of the dueling tournament, as well as several practice sessions which will be open to all students, regardless of school affiliation."

Hermione grinned. That would certainly be exciting, as well as a good way to test her skills for the Triwizard tasks.

"The tournament will be divided into four divisions: first and second years; third and fourth years; fifth and sixth years; and seventh years. The tournament will take place after the third Triwizard task, and will be held in double elimination style. This means that you will be guaranteed two duels."

A murmur of interest passed through the Great Hall.

"Depending on numbers, we may have certain students receive a bye into the next round of the tournament," Professor Runcorn continued. "I will work alongside the Hogwarts DADA professors, as well as the teaching staff visiting us from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to determine appropriate matchups so everyone can have a fruitful dueling experience. The first open practice session will be held in the Great Hall on the Saturday following Samhain. Further information will be posted on the notice boards in your common rooms. If you have any immediate questions, you may ask me now; otherwise, I hold office hours from nine to ten, Monday through Friday, and in the hour immediately following lunch on Monday through Thursday.

"I hope to see all of you at the open practice session." With that, Professor Runcorn stepped down from the dais.

Hermione turned to her friends and grinned. "So are you excited or what?"

Lily's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Obviously! I'm definitely entering - and we should also plan time on our own to practice and do some mock duels - maybe we can even get Harry and Ron to join us."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Oh, that's definitely a good idea! And besides, it won't just be good for the dueling tournament - I'd imagine it'll help us with DADA as well."

Lily elbowed her in the side. "Of course the first thing you think of is getting better marks."

"Oh, shut it. And I think of other things, too."

"Like boys?" Lily asked, drawing out the word.

"No!" Hermione protested a little too quickly. "Like the Triwizard Tournament, and how I've got to kick arse."

"Suuure."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Lily."

Lily held her hands up in defense. "If you say so."

"Hmph."

"Millie, do you think you'll enter?" Lily asked.

Millie shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. I've got to talk to family first."

"You know you can make your own choices, right?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you're almost fourteen."

Millie's expression turned surprisingly bitter. "No, I can't. You both should know that." Millie walked off, leaving Hermione and Lily standing together.

"I am concerned about her," Hermione said once the silence had stretched for too long. "Really, truly, concerned."

* * *

 **A/N: To answer some of the questions that have popped up in reviews…**

 _Q. What's Voldemort up to?_

 **A. For now, still (mostly) secret things. If you're curious, I'd suggest re-reading the last chapter of** _ **Black Bishop**_ **and taking a closer look at what Trelawney says.**

 _Q. Did Trelawney make a prophecy?_

 **A. Nope! This Trelawney is just more competent.**

 **As always, thanks for reading!**


	12. Fame Isn't Everything

CHAPTER TWELVE: FAME ISN'T EVERYTHING

* * *

 _Library_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _16 October 1994_

* * *

Viktor Krum was ready to full-on curse someone. He had rather a creative repertoire, too, courtesy of his uncle, Adrik Morozov, a highly adept and vicious duelist. Viktor's cousins had thoroughly briefed him on how to handle political attacks, his more distant cousins had schooled him on proper English pronunciations, and his parents had rounded out the lessons by coaching him on how to handle fame while abroad. Nothing, absolutely nothing they had taught him had prepared him for hordes of English fangirls. Or Welsh or Scottish or Northern Irish fangirls. Viktor had a difficult time telling the difference.

At any rate, there was a - relatively - small and dedicated horde that followed him around on a daily basis, peering around corners, sneaking glances through open classroom doors, and spying on him through stacks of books in the library. It made studying rather inconvenient. Pinching the bridge of his nose only made the titters worse, and Viktor wondered how much of an international accident he would cause if he accidentally cursed one of them. Most of the horde had settled into the tables surrounding his, and it would be all too easy to curse one if he kept his wand hidden…

"Do you mind if I join you?" a slightly irritated voice asked, "all the other tables are full. It seems as if the library has become rather popular as of late."

Viktor looked up. Hermione Granger was standing by the edge of his table, hair fluffing out more than usual. "You may," Viktor replied, inwardly wincing at his accent, "although I must warn you that this part of the library is usually noisy."

"Stupid bints," Hermione muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, spreading several rolls of parchment and half a dozen textbooks on the table.

Viktor raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. To be quite honest, he didn't know Hermione all that well - he'd become acquainted with her merely because Stefan was thick as thieves with Harry, and Hermione was one of Harry's close friends - or, at least that's what he told himself. It was better that than to fully acknowledge the letter he'd received.

With an internal sigh, Viktor redevoted himself to his homework. Admittedly, it was rather difficult to concentrate with the constant giggling coming from the nearby tables. Some of the girls had resorted to glaring, which was almost worse than the giggling.

"Is there nowhere better to study here?" Viktor asked.

"No - unless you count common rooms."

Viktor heaved a sigh. "Ebasi maikata."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Was that a spell?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"What? No, no. Just Bulgarian."

Hermione looked at him in askance.

"Our curse words are more versatile than yours."

"Ah."

"This Transfiguration professor, McGonagall, is she hard on everyone?"

"Far as I know. I only had her first year and she didn't have any tolerance for laziness in her class. Doesn't show much favoritism, even to her own house. Why?"

Viktor shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure."

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything is as well as it could be. Actual transfigurations are fine, essays are more difficult because my English is not the best."

"That must be hard."

"Mm. Do you know where to find _An Introduction to Human Transfiguration_ by Delvish Wriggle? I couldn't find it earlier, and the librarian is… not friendly."

"It should be in the Transfiguration section, towards the back. I can help you find it if you'd like?"  
"Please. I think I will leave the library after I find the book - I cannot focus here."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I don't blame you."

Viktor smiled back, and tried, once again, in vain, to forget about the letter.

* * *

 _Slytherin Common Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _16 October 1994_

* * *

 _Snap!_ Four wands darted out, Harry's landing on the pile first, causing it to explode spectacularly in Theo's face.

Harry grinned. "Ha! Gotcha!"

"Not for long, you don't."

"You wish, Nott."

Theo rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it."

"If you two could stop your drama…" Blaise drawled.

"Shut it, Blaise," Harry and Theo chorused.

"And now my feelings are hurt…"

"Get stuffed, Zabini."

"Weasley, you wound me…"

"Look, are we going to keep playing or what?" Harry asked. "We've got Quidditch practice in half an hour."

"Well, who's fault is that?"

Harry mock-glared at him. "Yours, Nott, for taking too much time to find the Exploding Snap cards."

"Well, sor-ry."

"Pfft."

"So are we playing?" Ron butted in. "We have time for at least a couple more rounds before Quidditch."

"I'm ready." Harry carefully held his wand in his right hand, left hand poised to move cards.

"Go!"

Cards flew rapidly as wands remained at the ready. Moments later, the cards exploded, and Ron grinned triumphantly.

"Take that!"

"Luck! It was just luck!"

"Yeah, right!"

After the next two hands, Theo, who now had a soot spot on his nose, had to concede that it hadn't been luck.

"Look," Harry said placatingly, "we just have better reflexes than you. Just accept your defeat."

Theo humphed.

"And now we've got to leave for practice!"

"Convenient, very convenient."

Harry sighed exasperatedly.

"Don't worry, Blaise and I will plot your demise while you and Ron are at Quidditch, right, Zabini?"

"What?"

Theo elbowed Blaise. "Demise and destruction. Plotting. You and me."

Blaise steepled his fingers. "Yes, yes, of course."

Ron sighed. "Good grief."

"And with that," Harry said cheerfully, "I think we'll make our exit. Bye!" He strode out of the common room, Ron quickly following in step beside him.

"So, what's the plan for practice today?" Ron asked.

"Team building, mostly," Harry replied. "Stefan and Baptiste only know the two of us, and Demelza is obviously intimidated by everyone, so I want to make sure that we all can work well together. If we don't have that, we don't have anything, and we've got to be really cohesive if we want to have a chance at beating some of the other teams. The Skipping Cerberi are stacked - Viktor as Seeker, Millie as Beater, and both those other girls from Durmstrang, Ostrowska and Mieczkowska look really good - we'll definitely have a hard time beating them. Bouncing Unicorns have good Chasers too since they have Draco and Roger Davies, and Flipping Flobberworms have Spinnet and Moran…"

"I can't believe you can keep a straight face," Ron interrupted.

Harry was puzzled. "Why?"

"The team names are so bloody stupid."

Harry thought for a moment, then chuckled. "I know. We need to take them seriously though. You always need to have a plan. And a backup plan. And a backup plan for the backup plan. But anyway, as I was saying, I also have concerns about the Dancing Manticores since they have Euan as their Keeper and he's actually decent. I owled Flint about some Chaser drills, actually, and if you have any ideas about what's tricky from a Keeper's perspective, I'd be open to anything you could come up with."

"Hmm...well…" Ron began, "there is one thing I was thinking about…it more applies to newer Chasers than experienced ones, though. A lot of the time, they forget they can move in three dimensions, and just move forward, or to the side instead of going over or under someone. I think it's something we could really play with as a team since you can get some pretty good angles on the Quaffle if you drop down low or pop up high enough."

"I think Flint has some drills for that. I'll definitely make sure to look for those."

Ron nodded. "Good. We should also try to watch the other teams' practices - knowing which Chaser formations they use will help out me and our Chasers and Beaters."

Harry smirked. "That's what the Invisibility Cloak is for."

"Thank Merlin for that."

By then, they were at the Quidditch Pitch. Most of the team was there, with the exception of Demelza and Ginny.

Harry checked his watch. "We've still got a few minutes. I'll be right back - just

grabbing some brooms from the Slytherin locker room."

By the time Harry had returned, Ginny and Demelza had arrived.

"Alright," Harry said, dropping the brooms on the ground. "I got permission to borrow these for Ginny and Demelza so we're all on a relatively similar brooms. But, before we do any sort of flying, we're going to play a get-to-know-you game. Everyone come here and sit in a circle."

Harry pulled out a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and there was a chorus of groans.

"Alright, most of you should already know how this works. You pull out a red-ish bean, and you've got to say something fun you did over the summer. Orange-ish bean, say something you're excited about. Yellow-ish bean, something you're nervous about. Green-ish, favorite subject at school. Blue-ish, what animagus you wish you were and why.

"Okay, I'll start. Orange. I'm excited to get to know everyone better and play Quidditch with all of you this year. Ron?"

"Orange. I'm also excited to play Quidditch with all of you and also for the chess tournament we're going to have which everyone should sign up for!"

Ginny took the bag. "Yellow. I'm worried about the pranks Fred and George will pull when we handedly beat both of their teams."

Ginny passed the bag to Demelza. "Red. I went to visit my grandparents. They live in the magical enclave in Cornwall, which is pretty neat."

The bag continued to be passed around the circle until Harry felt they couldn't take it much longer. "Alright, now that that's done, I hope we all feel like we know each other better. If everyone could grab their brooms, we're going to do a couple of warm up laps then go through the agility course three times before starting drills."

Much to Harry's surprise, practice seemed to run smoothly, even if Demelza was a bit awkward around the rest of the team. Stefan and Leila were going to need a lot more practice before they'd be able to work together smoothly as Beaters, but Harry could see that the potential was there, and felt gratified he'd made the right picks at tryouts. Ginny had done better than Harry expected, and he left the Slytherin locker room feeling quite pleased with himself.

Stefan and Baptiste were waiting for him, and Harry easily fell into step beside them. "What'd you think of practice?"

"It was good," Stefan said, Bulgarian accent slightly less pronounced than over the summer. "I like the agility course you have here, it is very fun."

"I enjoyed myself as well," Baptiste said smoothly. "Are those 'team-building' activities going to be a regular part of practice?"

Harry thought for a moment. "For the first couple weeks, yeah. I want people to get to know each other."

"Look, I know you want us to be a good team, but are those really necessary?"  
"What do you mean?"

Baptiste sighed. "As endearing as it is, I don't think anyone cares what little Demelza did over the summer or that my favorite class is Charms. It seems like something we don't need to waste practice time with. I fail to see its importance."

"It is."

"You simply can't say that without properly justifying it."

"Well, I can," Harry said stubbornly.

"Listen, Harry, I know you'll do a good job as captain, otherwise they wouldn't have picked you. However, you can't say things without being able to properly justify them. You need to be able to explain yourself otherwise people won't believe in you."

"Okay."

"Well?"

"The people you played with at Beauxbatons - have you known them for a long time?"

Baptiste shrugged elegantly. "Most of them, yes."

"And you practice a lot with them, yeah? Especially the other Chasers?"  
"Yes."

"And have you gotten to the point with any of them, that almost without needing to look for them, you know _exactly_ where they're flying beside you, because you've practiced a play so bloody many times, and you've flown with them enough that you have that sort of deep trust in each other?"

"There have been a few moments like that."

Harry sighed. "That's the type of moments I want to create on our team. But I can't do that if we're completely strangers to each other. We need to know each other, become comfortable with each other and practice with each other. The more we do this, the closer we'll get as a team, and the stronger chance we'll have at winning the tournament. That's what we all want, right?"

"It is," Baptiste said, although he no longer seemed to be paying attention. "It really is."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry it's been a while since the last update! School has been crazy so far this semester; I will do my best to get the next update out sooner. Hope you all enjoyed it!**


	13. The First Task

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE FIRST TASK

* * *

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _5 November 1994_

* * *

Hermione felt like she was going to vomit, and the sight of two pieces of toast and a pile of eggs on her plate wasn't helping.

"Go on, Hermione, at least have a bite of toast," Harry wheedled, "You know what you always tell me before Quidditch, you shouldn't go out on an empty stomach."

Hermione scowled sourly. It turned out it was far easier to give out her own advice than take it, and Harry was getting far too much joy out of the situation.

"You know he's right," Ron chimed in, "after all, it's what you say, and you always tell us that you're never wrong."

Hermione glared at him.

"Making faces won't make it better," Harry said helpfully, "but eating some lovely eggs and toast definitely will."

Hermione grimaced. "I will slap you."

"Violence is not the answer…" Harry began.

Ron grinned. "It's the question!"

"I might murder both of you."

"You can do that after the first task."

"You really should eat," Millie butted in from across the table. "You definitely will need energy today. Triwizard tasks usually are pretty brutal."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Yeah. I know."

"Regretting anything?"

"No," Hermione snapped.

" _Someone_ is stressed."

"Just stop, please?"

Lily winced. "Look, Hermione, we just want to help."

"Well, stop overwhelming me then!"

"Sorry, we're not trying to," Ron muttered.

"Well, you are!"

"Sorry."

Hermione took an aggressive bite out of her toast and chewed it. "Happy?"

"No."

"Hmmph."

Hermione finished the slice and pushed the rest of the eggs around aimlessly on her plate while her foot bounced under the table. As much as she didn't want to admit it, even to herself, she was nervous. Very nervous. There'd been plenty of comments made about her muggleborn-ness, both on behalf of Hogwarts students and from their visitors. While most of the Slytherins were supportive of her, there was a considerable number of students who'd been raised by Blood Purists. As such, they believed she was magically inferior to them, despite the fact that she'd been top in her year for the past three years. It was complete stupidness, but nothing nearly as bad as the article the Durmstrang champion had shown her.

Hermione shuddered. There was something about Georg Wiesler that made her skin crawl, and it wasn't just his disgusting political beliefs or the fact that he was from Durmstrang. She'd gotten to know both Krum brothers, and they were perfectly decent people even if they were rather Quidditch-crazed.

Georg Wiesler, on the other hand, was something else entirely. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what it was about him; whether it was the way his eyes lingered or the way the fingers of his right hand twitched. Hermione had taken to sitting as far away from him as possible. Fortunately, she hadn't had to spend much time with the other champions, and even as such, the Beauxbatons champion in her division, Talon du Feu, always made sure to sit between Hermione and Georg. Hermione had been surprised, given that she'd never mentioned her dislike of Georg to Talon, but wasn't about to complain.

With any luck, she wouldn't have to interact too much with Georg today. The first task would be stressful enough without having to see Georg.

"...Hermione?"

Hermione started, and her foot started tapping a nervous beat on the floor. "What?"

Ron shrugged. "You seemed distracted. Don't you need to head down to the task soon?"

Hermione quickly checked her watch, foot still jumping under the table. "I have ten more minutes."

"Do you want me to walk down with you?"

"Why would you do that?"

Ron shrugged. "In case you want to talk. Sometimes that helps you be less stressed. I know it helps me, at least."

"I'll - I'll be fine."

Ron looked skeptical. "Well, Harry and I will wait around just in case. We're planning to head down to the task a little early anyway so we can get good seats."

Hermione looked back down at her plate. "I don't think I can eat the rest of this."

"Then don't."

Hermione could feel the corners of her eyes pricking. "But I want to do well."

"You're going to do great, Hermione. You're not top of our year for nothing."

Harry scooted closer. "You're probably the smartest person I know. You'll do awesome."

Hermione bit her lip. "But what if I don't?"

"First off, you will do really well. And if you don't, there's the rest of the tournament to make up for it."

"But -"

Ron cut her off. "You've been preparing like mad for well over a month. You're going to be fine."

"I want to win, though, not just be fine."

Harry stood up. "Why don't we head down now?"

"I still have a couple more minutes…"

"What's the sense in waiting? All you're doing here is getting more stressed."

"I - alright."

The walk down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest seemed far too short, and Hermione could feel her heart start to race as the stadium came into view. It was huge, far bigger than the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione could already imagine the hordes of witches and wizards piling into the stadium, eager to watch the muggleborn champion fail.

She felt sick to her stomach.

Harry nudged her side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione lied.

Ron clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Well, good luck to you! We'll be cheering you on."

"Thanks." Hermione turned, and headed away to the champions' tent, completely missing the concerned look Harry and Ron shared.

Each step closer to the tent felt like a step closer to her doom. Hermione didn't think she'd felt so nervous in her entire life - nothing, not even exams, compared to the anxiety she felt standing in front of the tent door. Taking a deep breath, Hermione entered.

Almost immediately, Ludo Bagman, the Triwizard Coordinator, bustled over, a beaming smile on his face and sweat already glistening on his forehead. "Ah, Miss Granger! Excellent to have you here...if you could sit with the other champions, we're only waiting on two more…"

Hermione made her way over to where Talon was sitting with the other Beauxbatons champions, feeling rather relieved that Georg was standing on the other side of the tent.

"How are you, Hermione?" Fleur asked, French accent more pronounced than usual.

Hermione shrugged. "Nervous."

"I think we could all say that," Fleur said, sharing a significant look with the other Beauxbatons champions, "after all, we have no knowledge of what we will be facing."

Something about the phrase didn't sit right with Hermione, but before she could follow up, the Krum brothers entered the tent, and Bagman called everyone to attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention," Bagman boomed. "I would like to welcome you all to the first task, which will test your bravery and ability to think on your feet. For all of you, this challenge will involve facing one or many different magical creatures. For those in the youngest age division, your task is to get passed as many creatures as possible in order to obtain the golden letter. Similarly, for those in the middle division, your task is to get passed as many creatures as possible in order to obtain the golden chalice." Bagman winked. "You may find that some of the creatures are more helpful than others in helping you achieve your goals. Lastly, for our oldest champions, you will be facing one, rather than several creatures. Your task is to retrieve the golden egg." Bagman withdrew a velvet bag from his robes. "If Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor could step forward, and each draw from the bag…"

All the champions watched with baited breath as Fleur reached into the bag and withdrew a small dragon with a number two hanging from its neck.

Bagman grinned. "Ah, yes, the Common Welsh Green. Mr. Diggory, if you would…"

Cedric stepped forward, and withdrew another tiny dragon with a number one hanging from its neck.

"The Swedish Short-Snout. Which leaves…" Viktor drew from the bag "...the Chinese Fireball for Mr. Krum."

Viktor looked at his dragon model stoically, and Fleur didn't seem any more stressed than she'd been before. If anything, she looked slightly relieved. Cedric was the only senior champion to look slightly concerned, which Hermione thought was highly suspicious. She didn't have long to dwell on it, however, as Bagman started talking again.

"For our oldest champions, your order will be Mr. Diggory, then Miss Delacour, then Mr. Krum," Bagman explained. "For our younger champions, your order was randomly decided prior to the beginning of the task. For the youngest division, the order will be Mr. du Feu followed by Miss Granger followed by Mr. Wiesler. For the middle division, Mr. McGonagall will go first, followed by Mr. Malfoy, followed by the younger Mr. Krum. The divisions will go in order from youngest to oldest.

"Are there any questions? No? Excellent. I will notify you when it is your turn to enter the arena. Please remember that the only item you are allowed to bring in is your wand." Bagman cleared his throat. "Very well. I will be back momentarily." Bagman ducked out of the tent, leaving the champions standing around awkwardly.

Euan made his way over to her. "Do you feel ready?"

"I feel nervous. What about you?"

Euan chuckled. "Fair enough. I hope I'm ready. Not sure I actually feel ready, but I sure hope I am. Almost all of my extended family came down from the northern parts of the highlands to see it, and I hope I don't disappoint them. It's why I was so annoyed about them forcing us to use school regulation robes, you know," Euan said, voice dropping to a whisper. "The McGonagalls have clan robes that have been passed down for centuries, but we're not allowed to wear them for the Triwizard because of the new rules. Luckily, that doesn't stop me from doing this," he continued, pulling aside his robes to reveal a small square of green tartan pinned to his shirt. "They can't argue that this is against regulation, because it isn't. Also, tradition is important."

"I have heard that," Hermione said neutrally. "Look, did you think that some people seemed less -"

Bagman re-entered the tent, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "The first task will begin in less than five minutes! I'm just waiting on the final confirmation from our creature handlers, and then the first champion will go!" Bagman immediately beelined over to the Krum brothers, something Hermione could tell irritated Viktor endlessly.

Euan nudged her. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Hermione said distractedly, watching Bagman attempt, once again, to ingratiate himself with Viktor. "I'll tell you after the task."

"Alright."

The remaining time flew sped away far too quickly for Hermione's liking. Before she knew it, Bagman was calling Talon out into the arena. Hermione couldn't say how long it look Talon to complete the task, but the entire time was punctured with frequent cheers and gasps from the audience. Whatever it was, it was difficult, which wasn't surprising, but still was stressful.

At long last, there was a loud, bellowing cheer, and a few minutes later Talon re-entered the tent, escorted by one of the Beauxbatons professors, looking rather dazed and sporting a scrape on his left arm. He was quickly escorted over to the medical side of the tent by Madam Pomphrey, and Hermione couldn't help but feel even more concerned. What would happen if she got seriously injured?

"Miss Granger! You may enter."

Hermione shakily made her way out of the tent and into the arena. The shouts seemed to get louder with each step she took, and Hermione brandished her wand as she entered, braced for whatever challenge was thrown at her.

A pen filled with nifflers certainly wasn't what she expected. A quick identification spell confirmed that the creatures really were nifflers, and not something more nasty in disguise. Hermione's forehead creased in confusion as she studied the pen for more clues. Surely, this wasn't the entirety of the task. There was a small gate at the other end of the pen, and Hermione experimentally banished some dirt towards it. Unsurprisingly, the dirt hit an invisible wall and bounced off, leaving nothing behind except a faint scent of ozone.

It was a wardline of some sort, then. Given the nature of the pen and the presence of the nifflers, it was almost definitely tied to them. Hermione flicked her wand.

" _Accio_ small piece of pyrite!" Moments later, a small chunk of shiny yellow mineral flew towards her. Hermione grinned. Most people thought nifflers only were attracted to true gold or leprechaun gold. The reality was that they were attracted to anything that was vaguely gold-colored and shiny, and pyrite was quite common.

Hermione pointed her wand at the pyrite. " _Wingardium Leviosa_." The pyrite rose smoothly into the air, and almost immediately the nifflers honed in on it. Hermione walked across the pen, pyrite carefully levitated out of the nifflers' reach. Hermione braced herself for impact as she crossed the ward line, but it didn't happen. Relieved, she levitated the pyrite slightly higher, then banished it out of the way. The nifflers eagerly ran after it, and Hermione was able to unlock the door with a simple _Alohomora._

On the other side was another pen, this one containing a hippogriff, and on the far side, a silvery ladder. Well, that was simple enough after the time Hagrid had been allowed to substitute teach in their Care of Magical Creatures class.

Making sure not to break eye contact, Hermione bowed to the hippogriff, and after an achingly long pause, it bowed back. Hermione stopped for a brief moment to pat the hippogriff's beak, then climbed the ladder up into a tunnel in a cliff face. She scarcely had time to straighten her robes when Ron appeared in front of her, a condescending smirk on his face.

"Funny, you seem so pleased at getting this far," Ron said, advancing slowly on her. "I suppose it's fair that you're able to take pride in such a pitiful accomplishment given that you're just a mud-"

" _RIDDIKULUS!"_

Boggart-Ron's face turned bright red as he was forced into a very Muggle princess dress.

"HA! TAKE THAT!" Hermione yelled as the Boggart popped out of existence.

Feeling oddly confident, Hermione strode down the tunnel, her progress only blocked by a small three-headed dog. A poorly sung rendition of the Hogwarts School song was enough for it to fall asleep and for Hermione to sneak past into the final chamber. In it was a small, fat bird with a gold envelope in its talons. Annoyingly enough, it was flying just out of reach.

" _Accio_ letter!" Hermione tried. " _Accio_ Golden Snidget!" Unsurprisingly, neither worked, which meant she'd have to resort to more creative means. The chamber didn't have many resources, except for the dirt on the floor, which meant she'd have to Transfigure something, and dirt was particularly difficult to work with. It took her a long time to Transfigure a net, and longer still to levitate it in the air and ensnare the Snidget. After that, it was simple to remove the letter from the Snidget.

A gong sounded, and a door appeared on the far side of the chamber. Clutching the letter, Hermione passed through the door and into the center of the arena, which was loudly roaring its approval. There was a huge Slytherin banner floating above the stands, and Hermione could just pick out Harry, Ron, Millie, and Lily sitting underneath it, yelling wildly. Hermione grinned, and waved at the crowd. She really did have good friends.

Hermione turned her attention to the far end of the enclosure where the five judges were seated. Some of them appeared to be muttering to themselves, and Hermione couldn't help but feel nervous. Sure, she'd completed the task, but what if she'd missed something? What if she'd broken some unspoken rule? What if -

"Attention, please!" Ludo Bagman bellowed. "We will now announce scores for Miss Hermione Granger."

The first judge, Madam Maxime, shot a long silvery ribbon out of her wand, which twisted itself into a large figure eight. Hermione's breath caught. Not too bad, but not too good either. A ratty faced man from the Ministry was next, and he shot a number nine into the air. After him was Headmaster Dumbledore, who gave her a ten. Hermione could scarcely believe her luck. Maybe the Beauxbatons headmistress simply hadn't liked her because of favoritism. Next, was Ludo Bagman, who gave her a nine, then finally Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, who gave her a measly six. The crowd booed him, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of self satisfaction. She'd done her best to prove herself, and the judges who weren't stupidly biased had given her good scores. Grinning, Hermione made her way out of the arena. All in all, it hadn't been too bad of a day.

* * *

 _Sybill Trelawney's Quarters_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _5 November 1994_

* * *

The scent of sage lay heavily in the air as Sybill gently rotated a bundle of burning sage around Aurora's frame while softly chanting in Latin. Aurora shivered despite the warmth. Sybill was odd even on the best of occasions, and was substantially stranger when calling upon the Fates. Tarot card reading were a very serious matter.

After all, if done incorrectly, it could cause the reader to go mad.

Sybill set the burning sage in a shallow dish at the center of the table, and turned to retrieve the tarot cards. Clasping them in both hands, Sybill murmured several phases in Latin before passing the cards to Aurora.

"Shuffle them," Sybill said, voice slightly raspy, "shuffle them until they feel right."

Hand trembling slightly, Aurora took the cards from Sybill, desperately trying to ignore that they were disturbingly warm.

"Focus on the question you want answered," Sybill rasped, "on the story you need the cards to tell. Allow them to whisper to you and stop when they feel right."

Aurora closed her eyes and shuffled the cards, trying not to think of their strange, dry texture that wasn't quite parchment. After a moment, she handed them back.

Sybill held them briefly, then returned them.

"Divide the cards into three piles, of whichever size and orientation you feel are correct."

Aurora divided the deck, and Sybill picked up the first pile.

"Cut the deck, and place the other half in my right hand. Take the center card, and place it on the table."

On it were three skull-faced men in tattered robes clutching bloody swords, each plunged deep into a still-beating heart.

Sybill didn't react. "And again."

Aurora turned over the card, placing it gently on the table. On it were a man and woman, each in caskets rotting away.

"And again."

Aurora turned the card and felt the blood drain from her face. On the card was a hooded figure in a tattered cloak. One skeletal hand reached out to clutch a long, knobbly wand, and the other held an amulet with circle, inside a triangle, bisected by a single vertical line.

Sybill set the remaining pile down, and Aurora tried not to hyperventilate.

Sybill steepled her fingers. "An interesting spread," she finally said. "And not an unexpected one. The Three of Swords. The Lovers. Death. The Fates swirl around you, Aurora. Pulling two Major Arcana is not typical, but in your situation, not unexpected."

"I-"

"Allow me to explain. The Three of Swords is your past. Pain. Heartbreak. Something went terribly wrong, and the pain still lingers with you today. This may refer to past experiences in your own family or with a lover."

Aurora winced.

"The Lovers," Sybill continued. "The Lovers indicates that you have a great decision at hand. You must follow your heart in this decision, or otherwise suffer the consequences of your actions. Death. Once again, change. Profound change. Something in your life will be changing soon, and irreparably so. This is not a bad card, Aurora, but rather reflects a great moment of change in your life. You are at a crossroads, Aurora Sinistra, and if you fail to make the correct decision, I fear the consequences will be dire."

Sybill leaned closer, and Aurora could smell the stale scent of sherry on her breath. "You know what I speak of, Aurora. I have warned you of the consequences of ignoring the implications of Jupiter's advances, and should you continue forth blindly, your fate will be a dark one, the forged sword will cleave you in two, and the Chessmaster will rise not as a saviour to us all but as a dark and broken figure that will haunt wizardkind for generations to come." Sybill was breathing heavily now, and Aurora could smell something horrible and rotten. Sybill leaned forward.

"The cards don't lie, Aurora Sinistra, and should you fail to listen to their warning, as you have failed to listen to the omens before, all of us will be in grave danger."

Aurora stood up, backing away from Sybil as she advanced forward.

"The Gods and Fates above have spoken through these sacred cards, and you must take their word as the truth for I have seen things, great and terrible things, and should those things come to pass Britain then none of us may survive to see the light of dawn." Sybill was rambling now, and blood had begun to leak from the corners of her eyes. Aurora backed around the table, not noticing she'd bumped the stack of cards. It was all she could do to get out of the room with Sybill's panicked laughter chasing her, descend the tight, narrow staircase, hurry through the classroom down the silvery ladder, and down even more stairs until she couldn't wait any longer and was violently ill.

Far above, on the top of the North Tower, Sybill's laughter turned to choking sobs, then stopped when she noticed the upset cards. The pile had slid over, and a single card had fallen onto the floor. With trembling fingers, she turned it over and sat back on her feet.

"The Five of Swords," she murmured. "Yes, I fear the worst has yet to come."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**


	14. Secrets Revealed

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SECRETS REVEALED

* * *

 _Hogsmeade Village_

 _Scotland_

 _12 November 1994_

* * *

"I dunno," Ron continued as they walked towards the Three Broomsticks, "I really think Hermione is still upset."

"About the first task?"

"Yeah."

Harry looked confused. "Why?"

"Blames herself for placing second."

"I mean, yeah, but it was a close second. Only one point, and that's only because Georg is pretty good on a broom."

Ron shrugged. "She still blames herself. She's convinced it all came down to the broom bit at the end."

"She did take the longest to get the note from the Snidget," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, if only because both Georg and Talon played Quidditch. As Seekers."

"Mm. Yeah. She really shouldn't blame herself, then."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's Hermione, she blames herself for everything."

Harry sighed. " _Yeah_." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're coming with me to see Sirius."

Ron blinked at the non sequitur. "It's not a problem. I'm a bit surprised you asked."

Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. "Look, Sirius is way better than he was. You saw how he was in Diagon -"

"-mostly fine, but a bit...on edge?"

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah."

"It'll be alright."

"I hope so. His letters haven't been odd, it's just that I get these feelings sometimes."

"Feelings?"

Harry shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and shrugged. "Yeah, feelings. Not like emotion-feelings, but _feelings_ , like there's something bad that's going to happen."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Like, Divination-feelings?"

"No," Harry said emphatically. "Not like Divination. I just can't describe it. It's just some kind of knowing."

"Sounds awfully like Divination."

"Oh shut it. We're here, anyway."

"Convenient," Ron quipped.

Harry ignored him, and entered the Three Broomsticks where they were immediately greeted by the warm scent of butterbeer and good pub food as well as an energetic Sirius Black.

"Harry! How's my favorite godson doing today?"

"Good."

"And Ron, crickey, you seem to be getting taller every time I see you! How have you been?"  
"Good, thanks."

Sirius rubbed his hands together. "Excellent, well, I have a table on reserve, I'm sure you both are terribly hungry."

Harry grinned. "Starving."

Sirius flagged down a waitress, and in short order they were escorted to a table. It didn't take them long to order - bangers and mash for Harry and Sirius, cottage pie for Ron, and butter beer for all - and then it was back to the small talk Ron had been dreading.

"So, that first Triwizard task, eh?" Sirius began, "Pretty impressive, don't you two think? Hermione, she did pretty well."

Harry nodded. "She did. She's a little disappointed, but I'm sure she'll get it back in the second task. It was the broom bit at the end that hurt her."

"Ironically, I think she would have done better in the middle bracket's task," Ron added. "Not that Euan did poorly at all - the way he flew across the chasm on the hippogriff was completely insane - awesome, but insane - but Hermione would have solved the sphinx's riddle in under a minute."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. She's a right genius."

"How'd she not end up a Ravenclaw, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Hermione's pretty clever, so I can definitely see why she's in Slytherin."

"She's top of our year, too," Ron added. "Some of the blood purists have been getting pretty shirty about it."

Sirius snorted lightly. "I can only imagine. My mother would be turning in her grave if she heard that, the racist old bat."

The arrival of their food saved them from having to move the conversation away from Sirius' late mother. Ron was pleased enough with the cottage pie; in his rather biased opinion, it wasn't quite as good as the cottage pie at the Muddy Hippogriff. The butterbeer, however, was incredible. Ron had only had some once before since he didn't have Galleons to spare, and he was definitely missing out on a critical part of the Hogsmeade experience.

As they got further into their meal, the conversation took a slow - and unfortunate - turn towards politics. "I think it's boring," Sirius said, poking at the remains of his bangers and mash, "Bunch of old wizards nattering on about Merlin knows what. I didn't even want to reclaim the Black seat, but my cousin insisted."

"...which cousin?" Harry asked.

"Cissy," Sirius replied through a mouthful of mash. "Said it was part of my familial duties."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She sent me a letter with a punch of pureblood piss in it. I responded in kind, of course, because that's the name of the game, but I didn't want to reclaim it."

"Why did you?" Harry asked.

"Because my cousin made a very good point," Sirius said, "surprising, I know, given her repulsive habits, but, I realized she was right about one thing. And, that one thing meant that she was absolutely correct in insisting that I re-establish the Moste Ancient and Noble House of Black as a force to be reckoned with on the Wizengamot."

"What was the thing?"

Sirius tapped the side of his nose. "A common enemy. And that's all I'll say here. Excuse me, while I pay."

Sirius stood, and headed to the bar while Harry and Ron exchanged a look, both wondering who Sirius Black and Narcissa Black Malfoy would consider to be a common enemy.

* * *

 _Darkened Hallway_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _12 November 1994_

* * *

Ron yawned softly, eager to get back to the dorms. After a long visit to Hogsmeade and several productive hours in the library, he was more than ready to go to bed. Ron hefted his bookbag higher on his shoulder, then stopped abruptly as the hair on his neck stood on end. There were whispered voices ahead, and Ron crept slowly closer, straining to hear the conversation.

"You don't scare me."

"I would argue otherwise."

"I think you're afraid, and trying to manipulate me into believing otherwise. I know you, and I know your tactics. I will not allow you to disway me."

"Why would I be afraid? Need I remind you that it was I who stood at the Dark Lord's right hand? Where were you then? Hiding away at your school?"

"You have no idea -"

"Do not even attempt to play mind games with me. You know which of us whispers in the Dark Lord's ear. I know his plans."

Ron felt like his blood had frozen.

"Do not test my patience, Igor," the first voice continued darkly, "You will find I have none of it."

There was the sound of spitting, the soft snickt of a wand leaving a sheath, the thud of a body hitting a wall.

Heart in his mouth, Ron crept backwards, scarcely daring to breathe. All he wanted was to escape unnoticed, and hide in his bed for a good long while. Ron strained his ears as he slowly moved away, and caught the barest hint of a whisper followed by something hard connecting with flesh.

"You sack of useless shit," the first voice spat.

Precise footsteps tapped closer, and Ron scrambled up against the wall of the corridor. Maybe, if he remained silent, he wouldn't be seen. Ron held his breath, and almost gasped at the figure who turned the corner. He'd been expecting some terrifying Death Eater, someone so foul it was patently obvious that they'd supported the Dark Lord.

He wasn't expecting to see Professor Prince.

He also wasn't expecting to be terrified out of his mind. While Professor Prince was intimidating, Ron had never been scared of him. Sure, the twins had told stories about how horrible he could be, but they'd told stupid stories about everyone. Ron hadn't believed them, especially not after getting to know the professor.

Now, Ron understood.

Professor Prince was absolutely terrifying. Anger was etched into every line of his body as he strode down the corridor towards Ron, wand brandished. Ron felt as if he couldn't move.

"How much did you hear?" Professor Prince demanded.

Ron tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come out.

"How much did you hear?" Professor Prince snapped louder. "And what in Merlin's name were you doing at this hour?"

"I - common room - library," Ron managed.

"How much did you hear?" Professor Prince demanded, standing close enough loom over Ron.

"I -"

Suddenly, Ron was staring down the length of Professor Prince's wand, and felt himself go slightly cross eyed. Professor Prince made eye contact, then, without warning, Ron felt like his brain had turned into a deck of Exploding Snap cards. Snippets of conversation flashed through his mind, and then he was back in the present, head reeling.

Professor Prince stared at him for a long moment. "I am sorry I have to do this, Mr. Weasley, but I have no other choice. _Obliviate!_ "

Ron shook his head dazedly. Merlin, it'd been a long day if he was this tired. Talking to Sirius over lunch must have been far more stressful than he thought. Ron yawned, and trudged towards the common room. He couldn't wait to curl up in his bed.

Unfortunately, when he got back to his room, sleep was the last thing he'd be able to do. Theo was sitting on their floor, in the midst of trying not to have a panic attack, and Harry was crouched next to him, speaking softly. Ron could only hear snippets of conversation; it seemed to be something about Theo's father.

"Ron, can you close and lock the door?" Harry said mildly.

Ron did as he was told. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

Harry grimaced. "No, not really."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you can kill my father," Theo said hoarsely.

Ron settled down next to them. "What happened?" Ron asked, then mentally kicked himself as Theo winced. "Sorry. You don't have to answer if you don't want to," he added hurriedly.

Theo drew a slow breath. "It's okay. It's just … it's complicated."

"That's alright. Also, you really don't need to tell us if it's going to upset you."

Theo shook his head. "No, I should tell you. That way, if I end up dead, at least the two of you will know why."

Silence hung heavily in the air.

"Theo…" Harry began.

"No," Theo interrupted. "I want to tell you. Just...it's a lot, okay?"

"It's okay."

"Go on, Theo."

Theo took another slow breath. "You know… you know how my father married twice? That's where this all starts. My father's first wife was Anastasiya Dolohova, the eldest daughter of Viktor Dolohov and Maya Morozova. Anastasiya had my oldest sister, Arya, fairly early into her marriage. She took longer to become pregnant with my other half-sister, Helena…"

Theo looked away for a moment. "Apparently, there were a lot of complications with the pregnancy. Helena… Helena was stillborn, and Anastasiya died very shortly afterward. There was never any proof of foul play, and you can be certain that the Dolohovs did investigate. They could still be investigating, for all I know. I think Arya is somewhere in the line of succession for the Russian throne, although the rules get complicated because she's a girl.

"But, anyway, my father remarried fairly quickly, this time to my mother, Rhea Malfoy of Black Heights. She was the last of the Black Heights Malfoys - quite distant cousins of Draco's family, actually. Rhea had me, which pleased Father because he needed a son as an heir. I think he was hoping for a second son, when Mother got pregnant again, you know, in case something happened to me, or in case he needed to make something happen to me. But, instead, Mother had my sister, Diana. Mother...she died during childbirth."

Theo's eyes were full of tears. "Do you know how few witches die in childbirth? Between the resources at St. Mungo's and the invention of modern healing potions, there was no reason for her to die. But Father insisted Diana be born in the manor, and Mother died. I don't believe that was a coincidence. Both my mother and Arya's mother died shortly after or during the birth of their second child, and both of the second children were female.

"I'm just so scared. I'm scared I'm next."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Why would you be next? You're his only son."

Theo hugged his knees. "Father has...certain...political beliefs," he finally said. "Most of them I really don't agree with, and it's only a matter of time until he discovers the extent of my opinions. He'll either try to 'convince' me to agree with him or he'll make sure I'm not a problem anymore."

"But he'll still need an heir," Harry pointed out.

"He's been talking about another marriage," Theo said quietly. "If he has another son, he won't need me anymore."

They sat in silence for a while, and Ron desperately tried to think of something to say. He couldn't think of anything. There really was nothing he could say to make the situation better. Harry was much better than he was with words and feelings.

"I'll be back," Ron muttered, feeling far too awkward, "er, loo."

Ron walked into the fourth-year boys' loo and was immediately greeted by the disgusting sound of retching, quickly followed by a toilet flushing. Ron wasn't sure who was expecting to see come out of the stall, but he certainly wasn't expecting Draco. His hair was in disarray, and he looked pale and sickly.

"Are you alright?"

Draco shook his head, and wordlessly headed over to the sink to rinse out his mouth.

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing? Should I get Professor Prince?"

Draco shook his head again.

"Are you sure? You look terrible."

Draco turned to face him. Ron could see dark circles under the other boy's eyes, and it didn't look like he'd gotten a good night's sleep recently. "There's nothing anyone can do."

"Malfoy...Draco, I'm sure there's something someone could do. I can go get Professor Prince…"

"No!" Draco said forcefully. "That won't help. It's nothing anyone can help with."

"What's wrong?"

Draco glanced downwards, and Ron noticed he was holding a crumpled letter in his hand. "I -" Draco sank to the floor, staring at the letter "I - my -" he swallowed hard. "I think my father might kill me," he said quietly. "And I don't know what to do about it."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating! Real life has been wild. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	15. Confrontations

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: CONFRONTATIONS

* * *

 _Quidditch Pitch_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _19 November 1994_

* * *

Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, nervous energy coming off him in waves. This was it. This was the day of the first Quidditch match, and the first real test of Harry's leadership. Sure, there had been individual practices, and the inevitable squabbling that came with the role of captain, but this was the first test. If he failed, Harry didn't know how he'd handle it. It would be too embarrassing for words.

Harry took a moment to take a deep breath, center himself, and square his shoulders before entering the locker room. It was important that he lead by example, and it was especially important today. If the team saw he was relaxed and confident, they would be relaxed and confident, and play at their best. Otherwise... Harry hated to think of the consequences.

Projecting a confidence and sense of balance he certainly didn't feel, Harry strode into the locker room. Most of the team was already there, and in the process of changing.

"Alright," Harry announced. "We're going to have a team meeting in about fifteen minutes, so make sure you're ready by then. Who's missing?"  
"Just Ginny and Demelza," Ron replied from the other side of the locker room, "I'm sure they're on their way."

Ginny and Demelza arrived, breathless, just a minute later. "Sorry, didn't mean to be late!" they chorused.

"It's fine, we'll be having a team meeting in fifteen minutes to go over our game plan," Harry said. "Do whatever you need to get ready."

Fifteen minutes went by in almost no time, but the entire team managed to get their kit on and be ready for the meeting. Harry studied his team closely. Everyone looked relatively calm, with the exception of Demelza, who clearly was quite nervous for her first Quidditch game at Hogwarts. The uniforms...were uniforms. Harry had a strong suspicion that Professor Dumbledore had taken over the uniform designing job since they were rather brightly colored in different shades of red, yellow, and orange with a bold hippogriff emblazoned on the back.

"Alright, everyone! Gather around!" Harry called. "As you all know, we have our first match today!"

"Here, here!" shouted Ron.

Harry gave him a look. "We're going up against the Bouncing Unicorns -"

Ginny stifled a snort.

"- and while they're a good team, we're a whole lot better! We've got a great Keeper, Ron!"

The team cheered.

"Three amazing Chasers, Ginny, Demelza, and Baptiste!"

The team cheered again.

"Two phenomenal Beaters, Stefan and Leila!"

The team cheered a third time.

"And," Ron said, chiming in, "we've got a Seeker who's just okay!"

The team booed, and Ron grinned.

"Just messing with you," he said, "we've got the best Seeker at Hogwarts, the youngest Seeker to play on a House team in a century, our very own Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter!"

The team cheered and stomped their feet. Harry could feel himself blushing. "Thanks, Ron. Anyway, we've got quite the team, and we're going to crush the other team. Their captain is Roger Davies, who also captained the Ravenclaw team last season. He's got decent Chaser tactics, but doesn't have any idea how to coach his Beaters and Seeker. Their Chasers will likely be favoring the Hawkshead formation and very likely won't go for a Holyhead style zone defense. Beaters, if you can disrupt the Hawkshead, then most of their plays will be compromised. Also, Ron, remember that Draco favors the left hoop."

Ron nodded his understanding.

"Individually, both of their Beaters are strong - Fred Weasley and Brutus Scrimgeour. However, Weasley and Scrimgeour aren't going to have nearly as much chemistry as Weasley had with his twin, so they should be manageable. Their weakest link is probably the Keeper, Andrew Davis, so make sure to press that advantage early so they can't recover. Baptiste, what's your sister like as a Seeker? Anything I should worry about?"

Baptiste chuckled. "Harry, if you can nearly best Viktor Krum, you have nothing to worry about from my sister."

Harry could feel himself blushing again. "Alright, if we're all ready, let's put our hands in. Hippogriffs on three! One, two, three…"

"HIPPOGRIFFS!" they cheered.

"Let's line up," Harry said. "They'll be announcing us soon. Everyone make sure you have your broom."

They lined up, Chasers, then Beaters, then Keeper, then Seeker. Harry walked up the line, checking to make sure everyone looked ready. "Doing alright, Delmelza?"

Demelza offered him a weak smile. "I'm nervous. I'm...I'm worried I'll let the team down."

"You won't," Harry said confidently.

"How do you know that? I'm the least experienced and -"

Harry cut her off before she could finish. "I was in your shoes once. I did fine, and so will you. Everyone gets nervous - I would be more worried if you weren't, actually. Besides, I wouldn't have picked you for this team if I didn't think you were capable."

"But -"

"Demelza, you are very talented. You're going to do just fine. I believe in you." Harry clapped her on the shoulder, and took his place in line.

From outside, they could hear the familiar tones of Lee Jordan.

"Welcome, all, to the first match of the Cooperative Quidditch Tournament! In the spirit of international cooperation and forming friendships, each Quidditch team in this tournament has a mix of different Hogwarts houses and international students. This tournament is a double elimination style tournament, so each team is guaranteed a minimum of two games.

"Today's match features the Dancing Unicorns versus the Galumphing Hippogriffs! Playing for the Dancing Unicorns we have…Davies! Malfoy! Viridian! Weasley! Scrimgeour! Davis! Aaaand Malfoy! Playing for the Galumphing Hippogriffs we have...Weasley! Robins! Malfoy! Krum! Warrington! Weasley! Aaaaaaand Potter!"

All the tension Harry had been carrying with him drained away as he kicked off, wind tearing at his hair. Everyone got into the faceoff position, and Harry failed to suppress a loud chuckle. If the Galumphing Hippogriff uniforms were bright and colorful, he didn't quite have words to describe what the Bouncing Unicorns were wearing. Their uniforms were decked out in various shades of pink, purple, and silver, and Harry was worried he might go blind from the sheer shock of it.

"Captains, please shake hands," Madam Hooch demanded. "Quaffle is ready... _TWEET!"_

"And the Quaffle is in play!" shouted Lee Jordan, "Weasley in possession! She used to play Seeker for Gryffindor, but has taken up Chaser. Merlin, look at her fly! Quaffle goes to Malfoy - Baptiste Malfoy, that is - back to Weasley, Weasley passes to Robins, back again to Weasley...Weasley shoots...and scores! Unicorns Keeper just barely misses saving that Quaffle!"

Harry inwardly cheered. Scoring the first goal always had a way of lifting a team's spirits, and now it was just a question of whether they could keep it up. The other question was a matter of finding the Snitch. Harry started moving in a serpentine search pattern, carefully scanning the pitch for any sign of gold while simultaneously keeping an eye on his teammates and the other Seeker. Apolline Malfoy was busy scouring the other side of the field, albeit not in the most efficient way. Harry quickly debated trying a Wronski feint to test the other Seeker, then decided against it. It was better to keep his skill with that particular move quiet, especially given how much he'd managed to improve his feint since the last time he'd used it in competition.

Harry checked the scoreboard - 40-0 in their favor - before continuing to look for the Snitch. Usually it wasn't seen this early in the game, but sometimes Harry got lucky. After over five minutes of careful searching, Harry finally caught a glimmer of gold. He subtly corrected his course so Apolline wouldn't catch on until it was too late, and then went into a dive. Moments later, the snitch was clutched in his hand.

"Galumphing Hippogriffs win in a landslide!" Lee Jordan announced in seeming disbelief. "220-30!"

Joy soared in Harry's chest. They'd done it. It was only the first match, but still, they'd done it, and no one could take that joy away from them.

* * *

 _Severus Prince's Personal Quarters_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _19 November 1994_

* * *

It was very cozy, Aurora reflected, sitting as they were. She was cuddled up in an afghan in the corner of Severus' slightly worn chesterfield, feet tossed unceremoniously across his lap. He'd conjured a desk to float over her feet, and was working on grading, occasionally pausing to read particularly stupid exerpts. It was very cozy, it was very easy, this thing they had. It would be all too easy to pretend that everything was peachy, and that none of Severus' political responsibilities would come between the two of them.

Regretfully, neither she nor Severus were that stupid. She also couldn't forget the last time she had tea with Sybill. Aurora believed in Divination selectively. There were plenty of pretenders who claimed to tell fortunes, but Sybill was a True Seer. She'd made predictions on Aurora's behalf several times, and hadn't been wrong. At least not yet. Aurora shivered, remembering the last time she had tea with Sybill. There'd been something different, that time. Something older and more terrible had spoken through her friend, and Aurora feared following the advice as much as she feared ignoring it.

There was, of course, the off chance that Sybill had been wrong. It was the lie Aurora kept telling herself, putting off confronting Severus. It was an exercise in futility, and Aurora hated herself for it. She needed to screw her courage to the sticking place and simply ask one question. It was easy to say within the confines of her mind, but very difficult to follow through with.

Aurora closed her eyes, and all she could picture was Sybill, blood oozing from her pores, and the rotten odor that had taken over her breath. The words, uttered in a rambling, panicked scream, _the cards don't lie, Aurora Sinistra, and should you fail to listen to their warning, as you have failed to listen to the omens before, all of us will be in grave danger...should you continue forth blindly, your fate will be a dark one, the forged sword will cleave you in two, and the Chessmaster will rise not as a saviour to us all but as a dark and broken figure that will haunt wizardkind for generations to come._

Aurora shivered again, and Severus began to absentmindedly rub her feet. The reading hadn't been the first time Aurora saw Sybill bleed from her eyes. However, it had been the first mention of the Chessmaster, which had been decidedly odd. Sybill typically used astrological symbols in her readings, referring to different actors as planets. Sometimes she would deviate from that, preferring symbols that occasionally resided within her tarot cards, such as the forged sword, or a simple moniker, such as the prodigal son. The Chessmaster, however, had been spoken with a weight to it, as if she were speaking of a Deity themself.

Try as she might, Aurora could not get Sybill's words out of her head. "Severus?"

"One moment," he said absently, quill scratching on parchment. "Yes?"

Aurora swallowed. It was cozy, this thing they had, and with one question, she was more than capable of destroying it. "Severus, when were you going to tell me the Dark Lord returned?"

Silence hung heavily in the air, and Severus' fingers twitched, as if he were about to draw his wand. "Where did you hear that?" he demanded, voice a soft, deadly whisper.

"Sybill."

Something changed in Severus' face. "Sybill."

"Yes." Aurora pulled her feet back from Severus' lap. "She...she Saw things. The implications were frightening."

"And you believe such things?"

"I do." Aurora's voice was barely a whisper.

"Why?"

"Because if I listened to her during the last war, some of my family could still be alive."

Silence hung once again in the air.

"Severus...Sybill Saw many things swirling around you, and most weren't kind."

"I have experienced many unkindnesses."

"You know that's not what I mean, Merlin damnit! Please. Answer my question."

"And if I decline to?"

Aurora fixed him solidly in her gaze. "You won't."

Severus looked away, and for a moment, Aurora thought he wouldn't answer. "I don't know."

"What?"

"My answer. Honestly, I don't know."

"I don't understand."

"There is nothing not to understand. I quite honestly had no plan to tell you."

Aurora was shocked. "...why?"

Severus once again refused to make eye contact. "Because it was the best way to protect you."

"Severus, I -"

"Please do not push me on this," Severus said, suddenly sounding tired.

"I -"

Severus stood up abruptly. "I will be back later. Please do not follow me."

Aurora watched him leave, wondering if she'd ruined the only good thing she had. She stayed up to the wee hours of the morning waiting for him, but he didn't return. Not for a long while.

* * *

 _Salazar Slytherin's Secret Library_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _20 November 1994_

* * *

Harry entered the library, idly whistling through his teeth while swinging a bag of dead rats, then stopped short. Hermione had entirely taken over the desk, and had multiple books and parchments strewn across the entire surface.

"Hiya, Hermione."

Hermione jumped. "Merlin, you scared me!"

"I'm not Merlin, I'm Harry!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Did you need something?" She caught sight of the bag. "Harry, what are you carrying?"

"Dead rats."

" _Why_?"

"I was going to spend some time with the basilisk. She gets lonely."

Somehow, this made Hermione look even more distressed. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Harry took a closer look at his friend. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes, and seemed rather frantic. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said shortly.

Harry put down the bag of rats. "You don't seem fine. What's going on? Anything I can help with?"

Hermione stuck out her chin, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to tell him to get stuffed. Then, her chin dropped, and she stared morosely at her notes. "I figured out the second task."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Harry asked, aiming for positivity.

"I'm hoping I'm wrong."

"Why?"

"It involves flying. As in, on a broomstick flying."

"Oh."

"I don't know what I'm going to do!" Hermione all but wailed. "The stupid flying part in the first task is why I didn't get to the Snidget fast enough to win! I know it's stupid, but I feel like this whole thing is stacked against me, and everyone is just waiting for the muggleborn to fail."

"Breathe, Hermione. Alright. Breathe. It's going to be fine. There's plenty of time before the second task. Ron and I will make sure you're more than comfortable flying, and it'll be so much easier for you to learn on a Nimbus 2001 than on those shoddy brooms we had to use for flying class."

"Harry, I can't afford a Nimbus 2001."

"I didn't say you had to buy one. I'll make sure you can borrow one from the Slytherin House brooms."

"Aren't those just for Quidditch?"  
"Technically. But don't worry, I'll make it happen. All you need to worry about is the other components of the tasks and getting on the broom when we tell you to fly. Alright?"

Hermione was only partially listening. "What if I fail?"

"You won't."

"But what if I do? It'll be humiliating…"

"Hermione. Look at me. Firstly, you aren't going to fail, at least not with whatever flying stuff they've concocted. Ron won't let you fail, and I sure as hell won't let you fail either. If you fail on other parts of the tasks, I'm certain the other champions will fail worse. You're easily the smartest person I know, and if you can't figure out how to solve a challenge, I doubt any of the other champions will be able to solve it either."

Hermione wiped her eyes. "Thanks, Harry."

"You'll do amazing, I know it. Now, I'm going to go feed these rats to Tilly, and then I'll go talk to Professor Prince about letting you borrow a broom. Alright?"

Hermione gave a watery smile. "Alright."

"And then Ron and I will make a plan, and then we'll teach you to fly better than the Hufflepuff Quidditch team - er, sorry, that would _definitely_ sell your abilities short…"

"Just go entertain the basilisk."

"Yes. Alright. Sorry. Going now." Harry exited the library, bag of rats in hand, and climbed the concealed staircase up into the Chamber of Secrets, mind buzzing with how to convince Hermione that flying really was quite easy.

* * *

 _Thomas Gaunt's Personal Study_

 _Gaunt House, Cornwall_

 _20 November 1994_

* * *

Thomas took a moment to savour the whiskey. It was a wonderfully rich and subtle whiskey, and likely cost more per bottle than most wizards made in a month. Thomas expected nothing less from Lucius. He gave the glass another swirl, taking a moment to admire its dark amber color before taking another sip.

"Fantastic choice, Lucius."

Lucius inclined his head. "Thank you."

"Now, on to more important matters. The Dark Lord wishes for me to continue with our summer camp initiative, and also desires your insight on several other matters."

Lucius' interest was clearly piqued.

"For the summer camp initiative," Thomas continued, "we plan to continue our current program, and also add in some additional programs to further educate underprivileged wizarding youth on the proper traditions. We already determined one program we would like to implement, however, there is one logistical roadblock that would require your assistance. The program is tentatively titled 'Home to Hogwarts' and will target incoming first years. The challenge, of course, is identifying those individuals."

"The Board of Governors will be more than able to assist with that request," Lucius said smoothly. "How many students do you anticipate including, and what is the duration of the program?"

"Our initial goal is ten students, and the program would run for a minimum of one week. The students would each pay a nominal fee, and the Gaunt Estate would fund most of the program."

"Would you be looking for additional funding? Malfoy Enterprises is always looking for new opportunities."

Thomas smiled. "Actually, I was hoping you would fund an initiative of your own. After all, it defeats the purpose of summer camps and programs to educate the youth if they go home to Muggle filth each summer and forget all they have learned. Perhaps Malfoy Enterprises could fund an internship program to help pair young mudbloods and disadvantaged halfbloods with job opportunities in our world appropriate to their station."

"I am certain we could develop something," Lucius said, a shark-like grin gracing his features.

"Excellent. We can discuss this matter again, say, this time next week and determine other parties who should be involved. I would advocate for Narcissa's involvement, since she holds a position on the primary school board."

"I will speak to her and have her sound out any other who may be sympathetic to our cause."

"I look forward to it. The next question may strike you as strange, but it is of the utmost importance."

Lucius indicated his understanding with a graceful nod.

Thomas swirled his glass, and took a sip. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He made eye contact with Lucius. "Do you trust Severus?"

Lucius was clearly surprised by the question. "I do not truly trust anyone, with the exception of Narcissa. However, I do trust Severus more than most. Am I foolish to do so?"

"Many point to the years spent in Dumbledore's pocket as reasons to disbelieve Severus, alongside certain admissions made in closed court."

Lucius shook his head. "I am aware of those admissions, however, I went to Hogwarts with Severus. I sponsored him as a Death Eater, and financially assisted him in obtaining his R. in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts - although for Severus, it was much more of a study in the Dark Arts and Magicks Arkane. I know that man, and he could never be the kind of creature who would work for Albus Dumbledore."

A slow smile crept across Thomas' face. "Good. The last discussion we need to have tonight directly involves the Dark Lord's plans involving the Ministry. He wishes for us to keep our 'humanitarian' efforts separate from the actions of the Death Eaters, and wants both of us to ensure we have ironclad alibis for any upcoming Death Eater attacks. He has several in the works and would like our opinions…"

Lucius leaned in closer, and they began to plan in earnest.

* * *

 **A/N: And here's another chapter! I've had a lot more time to write due to the quarantine, so in addition to working more on this fic, I've started going through my google drive and rehabilitating some old abandoned projects. I'm starting to post those, so shameless plug to go check out** _ **Purple Like Violets**_ **, which is my take on a Pureblood!Hermione AU. More chapters and more fics will hopefully be posted this weekend! Here's to staying safe!**


	16. Family Business

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FAMILY BUSINESS

* * *

 _Great Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _5 December 1994_

* * *

"Before you all leave," Professor Dumbledore began, "I have a brief and exciting announcement for you. This year, in honor of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts will host a Yule Ball!"

The Great Hall immediately devolved into a general uproar, and Professor Dumbledore had to shoot several firecrackers out of his wand to regain control of the room.

"The Yule Ball will be open to students fourth year and above…"

The younger students unanimously booed.

"...and students in younger years may attend if invited by an older student."

The younger students looked around, and Hermione felt slightly concerned for her well-being. Clearly, Professor Dumbledore didn't understand teenagers in the slightest.

"Yule Ball attendees will be expected to be dressed in formal attire; your heads of house will review the guidelines with you. If you have any questions regarding whether your attire meets the Hogwarts guidelines, please direct your questions to your head of house. The Yule Ball will take place the Saturday following the end of term in order to cause minimal disruption to individual Yule plans. Now, good luck with the remainder of the term, and good night!"

Benches scraped as everyone stood up and started talking. Hermione shook her head. "Great, just what I needed," she said sarcastically. "Another bloody thing I have to worry about."

"Why would you need to worry?" Lily asked, looking rather confused. "You already have an amazing set of dress robes, and my mother knows a very good hair stylist who has a salon in Hogsmeade as well as London…"

"A date," Hermione said flatly.

"What?"

"A date. I have to find a date, and that's going to be impossible."

"Pssh. Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous, I'm being pragmatic," Hermione retorted. "Don't you agree, Millie?"

"...I'm not going to answer that," Millie said.

Lily rolled her eyes. "We're all going to get dates. Just you wait!"

"I'm not going to hold my breath," Hermione muttered as they headed into the dungeons.

"I heard that!" Lily complained. "And why are you being so negative?"

"No one is going to ask me to the Yule Ball."

"That's not a reason," Lily pointed out.

"I don't want to get into it," Hermione said. "Can you just leave it?"

"No."

"At least wait until we're back in our room."

Lily huffed. "Fine."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Hermione silently seething. She was starting

to hate the Triwizard Tournament. It had an insidious way of finding each and every one of her insecurities and thrusting them out for the whole world to see. First, it was all the digs about her muggleborn-ness, then her poor flying skills, and now she was expected to find a date for the Yule Ball. It was entirely overwhelming, and Hermione didn't think it could get worse.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione turned, about to head down to her dorm.

"A quick word, if you would," Professor Prince said.

A wave of concern passed over her. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Miss Granger. However, there is some information regarding the Yule Ball specific to champions. You will be expected to dance the opening dance of the Yule Ball, which means it is required for you to find a partner to take to the event."

Hermione's heart sunk.

"While the Yule Ball will have more relaxed standards in deference to the students' youth, you should be aware that you will be subject to high standards of decorum due to your status. The ball will open with a traditional Viennese waltz. Do you have experience with traditional dance?"

"Not particularly, sir. My parents enrolled me in a few ballroom dance lessons as a child at my grandmother's insistence, but I never learned more than the basics."

Professor Prince looked somewhat pained. "If you feel comfortable doing so, reach out to your fellow students for assistance. If you do not feel comfortable, notify me, and I will organize something. I am certain Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout are planning dance lessons for their students."

"Is there anything else, sir?"

"No. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Granger."

"Have a pleasant evening, sir," Hermione mindlessly echoed, mind already elsewhere and panicking. She turned, and headed to her dorm, completely unaware of her professor's concern.

Millie and Lily were waiting for her, and Lily shot a muttered spell at the door. "There. No one will disturb us."

Hermione took a seat at her desk.

"So," Lily said, clearly expecting Hermione to pour her heart out.

Hermione crossed her arms, having no intention of doing such a thing. "So."

"Aww, don't be a stranger, Hermione!"

Hermione shrugged.

"Why do you think you won't find a date?"

Hermione tried to dodge the question. "I don't think anyone will ask me."

"Why?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Hermione. Don't be ridiculous. Why do you think that no one will ask you?" Lily trapped her in a stare, and Hermione could tell the other girl wasn't going to back down.

"I'm not pretty enough," Hermione muttered. "All the boys just want to bring some pretty girl to the Yule Ball, and I'm not that. I've got this stupid hair, and these stupid teeth, and no one's going to ask me, okay? Happy?"

"No."

"You wanted an answer, so I gave you one."

"None of that's true, Hermione."

"Yes, it is. I look in the mirror and see it everyday, so I know."

"Hermione…," Lily began.

"Just leave it, please."

Mille spoke for the first time. "Hermione."

"What, you too?"

"Just be grateful for who you are. Boys would be dumb not to ask you, and if you're really that worried about your hair and teeth, those can both easily be changed. Just think about that, alright? Some of us can't be as lucky."

Hermione opened her mouth to snipe back, then thought better of it. "I need to prepare for the second task," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back later." She left without a backward glance, and didn't see Millie bury her face in her hands.

* * *

 _Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione Granger, and Lilian Moon's Dormitory Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _7 December 1994_

* * *

Millie unfolded the letter with trembling fingers, desperately wishing that it was something benign even though she knew that couldn't be the case. Letters marked with the Imperial seal of Russia seldom caused joy.

 _Dearest Millicent,_

 _We recently received news from your cousins that Hogwarts will hold a Yule Ball. As always, we are delighted that you will have an opportunity to properly represent the family, and trust that you will hold yourself to the highest standards of deportment. We eagerly await photographs of you and your friends at the event, and provide our best wishes to your dear friend Hermione Granger in her pursuit of the Triwizard title._

 _Kindly ensure that both Hermione and yourself meet with my dear cousin Fleur prior to the Yule Ball. Our family reputation must remain pristine, and you are well aware of the consequences of failure._

 _Yours in family,_

 _Madelaine Delacour Dolohova_

 _Tsarina of Russia_

Millie drew a slow breath, trying to decide if the letter was less bad than she'd expected, or if it was worse. It was always difficult to tell with her cousins, steeped as they were in political intrigue. Slytherin was supposedly the house of cleverness and cunning, but Millie had never felt more out of her depth. She didn't want to deal with the nonsense that came from family politics, especially ones as complex as those surrounding the Russian royal family.

Her mother had never wanted that fate for her. There was a reason, after all, that Ana Dolohova had moved to Britain. She'd hoped to provide her children with a life away from the cesspool of Russian politics. Millie had been raised to stand back and not draw undue attention to herself due to her mother's fears of catching the eye of the tsar. However, it clearly had all been done for naught.

Millie almost considered owling her mother in a desperate bid for help, then dismissed it. She likely was under scrutiny due to her friendship with Hermione and while she had no idea Hermione was Viktoriya Dolohova's granddaughter, her mother would blame her nonetheless. It was all a right mess, and Millie had no idea what to do. There was no escape. The family was always inevitable.

Millie carefully incinerated the letter, then vanished the ashes before going to splash water on her face. All she could do for the time being was follow instructions and pray she didn't accidentally invoke the tsarina's wrath.

The water was cool, and Millie took a moment to center herself as she neatly dried her face in the mirror. She'd always been told she was too tall for a girl. Too tall, and too plain. It would be a different matter if she were stick thin, or had exotic features, but instead, Millie was too tall, too solidly built, and too plain, to hear her mother speak of it.

She'd inherited very few features from her mother's side of the family, instead inheriting her father's strong jaw, thick black hair and broad shoulders. It was a look that read handsome, not pretty, which wasn't a problem for a wizard, but was a different situation for a witch. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about it.

 _It doesn't matter, either_ , Millie staunchly told herself as she walked away from the mirror. What mattered most was that she spoke to Fleur, and determined how to best stay in her cousin's good graces. Squaring her shoulders, Millie ignored her reflection and left the Slytherin dorms, heading directly to the Owlery.

It didn't take long to write and send a letter, and Millie left the Owlery feeling slightly accomplished, albeit quite lost in thought.

"Careful, Millicent."

Millie started, realizing she'd nearly crashed into someone in the hallway. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

Viktor smiled warmly. "It is alright, cousin. How are you? Excited for Quidditch?"

"I -"

Viktor must have registered something in her face, because his smile abruptly dropped. "Is everything alright? No," he quickly interrupted before she could answer. "Do not answer that here. Follow me."

Feeling confused, Millie followed him. Viktor quickly ushered her into a nearby classroom, shut the door behind them, then aimed a litany of spells at the door before nodding in satisfaction. "No one will disturb us. Well? What happened?"

"Nothing," Millie tried. "Everything's fine, Viktor."

"You are not yourself, Millicent. Something clearly is bothering you."

Millie remained silent.

Viktor began to pace. "Did someone say something to hurt you? Because if they did, Stefan and I will find them and make them regret it."

Millie studied her shoes, and suddenly Viktor stopped pacing and swore.

"It is family matters, is it not?"

Millie debated lying, then quickly gave in. "Yes."

"Did they threaten you?"

"I don't know."

"But our cousin did send you a letter?"

"Yes."

"And you did destroy it?"

"Yes. I know how to follow protocol."

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have also received correspondence recently," he admitted.

Millie's heart dropped. "From our cousin?"

"From our cousin."

"Regarding what?"

"A mutual acquaintance, although for you, a close friend would be more accurate."

Millie bit the inside of her lip. "What did our cousin want?"

"Information."

Millie rolled her eyes. "Of course. But what sort of information?"

Viktor didn't say anything for a moment. "Our cousin...wishes me to become more personally acquainted with your friend."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. The 'premier' social event of the year approaches, and depending on how that goes…," Viktor shrugged, "Who could know?"

Millie struggled to wrap her head around the situation. "But we're family," she protested, "Surely…"

"Fourth cousins evidently are distant enough."

Something pulled at Millie's heart. "Please...please be kind."

Viktor looked solemn. "I will."

Millie felt like she was going to cry. "When you ask her to the Yule Ball...please make her feel special. She doesn't need to know that our cousin demanded this. Just...make it perfect, alright?"

"I will do my best. For what it's worth, I would have asked her regardless of our cousin's demands."

Millie could feel hot tears beading in the corners of her eyes, and a prickle in her nose. Viktor enveloped her in a hug. "Do not cry, Millicent. Everything will be fine, in the end. We will all be okay."

Millie sniffled once before the tears began to fall in full force. "It's not us I'm worried about. She's my _friend_ , and our family could destroy her."

* * *

 _Percival Weasley's Flat_

 _London, England_

 _12 December 1994_

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" Percy asked.

Audrey Kaltwasser, his girlfriend of six months, merely looked at him.

"Look, I want Ginny to go and have a good time, but it just worries me."

"What worries you?" Audrey asked.

"The whole thing?"

Audrey gave him the Look again.

"The money," Percy admitted softly. "Dress robes are damn expensive to get something nice, and neither Bill nor Charlie have gold to spare. I'm worried about her date, but money is more of the issue. I don't want my sister showing up to the Yule Ball and feeling like she doesn't look beautiful."

"Oh, Percy."

"What?"

Audrey kissed him softly. "You're so sweet."

Percy could feel his ears turn red. "What do I tell Ginny?"

"Tell her you'll take her shopping next weekend at a second hand store, and that your girlfriend knows some good alteration spells. Let Ginny make the decision on her own about whether she wants to accept that offer."

"But what about Nott?"

"You can't change that Theodore Nott asked your sister to the Yule Ball."

"I know. I'm just worried. You know what his father is like."

"Theodore probably isn't much like his father if he asked your sister to the Yule Ball," Audrey pointed out.

"I _know_. I just...don't want her to have to get embroiled in all these," Percy waved a hand uselessly in the air, "politics."

"Owl your sister, and let her make her own choice. She's thirteen years old; she can start making some of her own choices."

"She's just thirteen," Percy murmured. "I sure wasn't ready to make choices when I was thirteen."

"Trust her, Percy. In reality, this is a small decision, but for her, it will feel huge. Let her have her moment."

Percy sighed. "You're right." A letter was written, and in short order sent off with Percy's owl, Hermes. "Audrey, when did you learn alteration spells?"

"When I was growing up. My mum taught me." Audrey sighed. "We didn't have extra gold around, so we made do with what we had."

"I thought your mum worked for the Wizengamot?"

"The House of Commons doesn't pay much, Percy. My father died when I was small, so there never was quite enough money to go around. I was the youngest of four, so I always had to make do with whatever was left."

"Audrey...I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

"S'okay," Audrey mumbled. "I don't really tell anybody."

"C'mere." Percy reached his arms out, and Audrey cuddled up next to him, head on his shoulder. Somehow, everything seemed quite right, even if he knew he'd spend the remainder of the week worrying whether he'd made the right choice with Ginny. The rest of the week seemed to fly by, and in no time, Ginny was there in London, ready to shop for dress robes.

It took Percy less than thirty seconds to realize he'd made the right choice. Ginny was practically bouncing around the shop, chattering endlessly about the different robes, and occasionally interjecting opinions on Quidditch. Percy did feel rather useless in the shopping adventure - he knew nothing about witches' fashion. Luckily, Audrey did, and Ginny was surprisingly open to her opinions.

It seemed to take forever for the two witches to decide on a selection of robes for Ginny to try on, and then even longer for Ginny to try on each robe.

"The bronze one looks the best," Audrey said.

Ginny flopped her arms around. "It's too big," she complained. "And the sleeves are heavy."

"We can fix that. The most important thing is that it's made from good quality fabric, so it will hold alteration spells well."

"What about the green robe?"

Audrey shook her head. "It's the wrong shade of green for you, and also quite overpriced. Feel the fabric. See how it's thin?"

"Yeah. I just...I dunno. What are you going to change about it?"

"The sleeves, for sure. We'll also take in the waist so it fits you properly. If I may…"

"Sure."

Audrey stood behind Ginny, and gently tugged at the robe. "See, it'll look something like this, but we'll also fix the sleeves, and modify the neckline a bit so it's more modern."

Ginny stared in the mirror for a long moment. " _Oh_."

"You see? It'll look beautiful on you."

Ginny took another moment to admire herself in the mirror. "Alright. Let's get this one then."

Percy paid for the robe, wincing slightly at the cost, then made his way back to Ginny and Audrey, who were chatting animatedly.

"You know," Audrey was saying, "I also have a hair piece that will look lovely with your dress robes. You can borrow it, if you'd like."

"Really?"

"Really."

Ginny blushed. "Thanks. And thanks, Percy."

Percy threw an arm over Ginny's shoulders and mussed her hair. "Only the best for my favorite sister."

"I'm your _only_ sister, you dolt."

They looked at each other, and burst into laughter. Percy grinned. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner before you have to go back to Hogwarts. I'm starving."

Ginny's face lit up like it was Yule. "Really? This is the best day ever!"

Percy's grin stretched wider, wishing he could frame the moment. Everything, for once, was perfect.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks as always for commenting! Shameless plug, go check out my other new fic, _Requiem_. Here's the summary:**

 _ **In 1981, Lord Voldemort was victorious in Godric's Hollow. Fourteen years later, he rules Britain with an ironclad fist. Each year, young witches and wizards compete in Requiem for a place in his inner circle. When Hermione is chosen to represent London, she's forced to use every one of her skills to succeed - or die trying.**_


	17. The Yule Ball

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE YULE BALL

* * *

 _Library_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _17 December 1995_

* * *

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy homework. "Yes?" she asked absently, most of her attention still on her parchment. Professor Boyet was really piling on the work, and Hermione had a term project to finish in addition to her homework assignment.

"I have a question for you," Viktor said, Bulgarian accent barely seeping into his voice.

"Alright, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, attention still on her homework.

"Nothing is wrong," Viktor said quickly. "If I could have your attention…"

Hermione tore her focus away. "Sorry. This homework is just dense."

"It is no worry. Anyway," Viktor continued, looking slightly nervous, "I was wondering if you would like to attend the Yule Ball with me."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt warm and tingly. For once, words failed her.

"It is okay if you already have a date," Viktor said hurriedly, clearly misreading her, "I know I waited too long to ask…"

"No, no," Hermione jumped in, heart still thumping rapidly in her chest. "I don't have a date yet. And I would like to go with you." She could feel a smile making its way across her face; it was a big smile, a slightly goofy smile, but for once, Hermione didn't care.

"Good. Do you have dress robes already? I would like to coordinate the color of my cravat to match."

"My dress robes are burgundy," Hermione said, wondering why she still felt so fluttery.

Viktor nodded. "Good. I will leave you to your Arithmancy, then. No more distractions."

Hermione attempted to turn her attention back to her Arithmancy book, but for some reason she couldn't focus. It made no sense - the library was quiet, and their table in the back had a discreet charm on it to keep the annoying fangirls away. She had had a lovely cup of tea at lunch, so there was no reason for her brain to fail to focus on Arithmancy.

Hermione peeked through her hair at Viktor, who was intently working on Transfiguration. He was also being perfectly quiet; the only noise coming from his side of the table was an occasional page flip or the scratching of his quill on parchment. Hermione attempted to marshall her thoughts. There was no reason to keep looking over at Viktor, and no reason to not finish her Arithmancy homework.

As it turned out, staying focused was easier said than done, and Hermione made her way back to the Slytherin common room feeling rather confused.

* * *

 _Slytherin Common Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _18 December 1995_

* * *

Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Er...Lily?"

"What?"

Harry shifted his weight again. "I, er, have a question for you?"

"And I wonder what that question could be?" Lily said sarcastically. "Go on."

"Er…" Harry could feel himself blushing. "Doyouwannagototheballwi'me?"

Lily just looked at him. "You're going to have to say that again a whole lot slower."

Harry took a deep breath. "Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Lily gave him the look again, and Harry felt like a bug. Thoughts started racing through his mind - maybe she already had a date, and everyone knew but him. Maybe she wasn't planning on going to the Yule Ball and he was the last to know. Maybe she -

"Of course, Harry."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Oh. Wow. Er, I mean, thanks. Er, I'm excited to go with you." Harry blushed furiously, annoyed that he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Fortunately, Lily didn't seem to mind too much.

"My dress robes are silver," Lily informed him, "just in case you care to match your cravat."

"Silver. Got it."

"One more thing," Lily said, stepping closer. Harry's heart suddenly started thumping in his chest. "Ron...does he have a date to the ball?"

For some reason, it was rather difficult to think. "Er, I don't think so? Not yet."

"Good," Lily said, much to Harry's confusion. "You're going to go to Ron, alright, and you're going to tell him to ask Millie to the ball."

"Er…"

"And he's going to be a gentleman about it," Lily continued ruthlessly, "because he doesn't currently have a date, and Millie doesn't have a date, and he's the only one tall enough for her to wear heels with."

Harry's mind swam.

"You got that?"

"Er...I think?"

"Ron's going to ask Millie to the Yule Ball," Lily repeated impatiently, "And you're going to make sure he does that."

"...alright?"

"Go do it now," Lily ordered, then flounced away in a whirl of flowery perfume that Harry didn't recognize.

Oddly enough, the common room felt significantly warmer after she left.

* * *

 _Charms Corridor_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _18 December 1995_

* * *

"Oi, Millie!"

Millie stopped walking, and Ron sped up to catch up with her. Millie eyed him suspiciously, and Ron immediately felt wrong-footed. "What do you want?"

"Er," Ron began, figuring it'd be best to stare down the proverbial hippogriff, "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me."

"Did someone put you up to this?" Millie asked suspiciously.

"No...I've been in class or in the library all day," Ron said slowly. "Why?"

"No reason," Millie muttered. "I'll go with you."

For some reason, Ron hadn't been expecting her to agree. "Oh. Alright, then!"

Millie fell into step beside him. "So, where're you off to?"

"The library. Me and Harry are going to work on the Transfiguration homework." Ron paused for a moment. "You can join us, if you'd like."

Millie's expression was unreadable, and Ron worried he'd made a faux pas. "I'd like to, but I have Quidditch practice."

"Ah. How's that going?"

"It's going pretty well. It's fun being on a team with Viktor, although people keep trying to hang around during practice, and Katarzyna - our captain -" Millie clarified, seeing Ron's confusion, "Had to go through Karkaroff to make Dumbledore keep other people away from our practices. Helps that she goes to Durmstrang and Karkaroff kisses Viktor's arse, anyway."

Ron nodded. "He sure does. It's a bit strange, really."

"Not really, if you think about it. Viktor's a huge international celebrity, and on top of that, the Krums are one of the wealthier families in Bulgaria, and they have some especially lovely cousins in Russia."

Ron's eyes grew wide. " _Oh_."

"Yeah."

"I still think all the fawning is strange. It just doesn't sit right with me, you know."

Millie nodded slowly. "Karkaroff...he's something else. I don't like him much either. He's just...oily."

"Yeah, that's what I meant too. It's gross, how over the top he is."

"Ugh, let's talk about something else, then."

They made small talk until Millie split off to head back to the dorms while Ron continued towards the library. Harry was already settled at a table, Transfiguration homework and several reference books scattered in front of him and a big, dopey smile on his face.

"You look happy," Ron commented.

Harry brightened even more. "Lily's going to the Yule Ball with me!"

"Oh, really? That's great!"

"Did you finally ask someone?"

"I did, just now actually."

"Oh. Who?"

"Millie."

Harry looked relieved for some reason. "Oh, that's good!"

"...what do you mean?"

Harry flushed slightly. "Lily wanted me to tell you to ask Millie," he mumbled, blushing more.

"...why?"  
"Dunno."

"Well, it doesn't matter because I asked her anyway," Ron said. "Is everyone in our year going with someone?"

"I'm not sure, but I know even Vince and Greg got dates, so I would assume so."

"Really? Who?"  
"Vince is taking Cecily Umbridge, and Greg is taking Vince's little sister, Louise."

Ron sniggered, then contained himself. "I'm guessing Pansy and Draco are going together, and Theo is taking my sister. You're taking Lily, and I'm taking Millie...what about Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione?"

"Daphne's going with some bloke from Beauxbatons and Tracey is going with Blaise."

"What about Hermione?"

"She's got to be going with someone - Lily would have said something, I'm sure, if she wasn't."

"She has to be going with someone, for sure," Ron said, realizing it, "She's a champion; she doesn't have a choice."

"That's right. I wonder who she's going with," Harry mused.

"No idea. All the decent blokes in our year are taken."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"C'mon, let's get this Transfiguration homework done."

* * *

 _Fleur Delacour's Private Dorm Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _23 December 1994_

* * *

"Now, sit still, please!" Fleur's accent was far more pronounced when she was frustrated, and Hermione's hair clearly was a struggle.

"I'm trying!" Hermione protested. She had turned down Lily's offer to go to the salon in Hogsmeade in favor of taking up Millie's cousin's offer of help. She had taken up her roommate's offer to go to the cosmetic healer, however, and her teeth finally were a normal size.

"Do not move or touch your hair," Fleur demanded. "Let the potion do its work."

Hermione eyed the Sleekeazy's bottle with dubious mistrust but did as Fleur told her. After all, the French witch always looked perfect. Hermione watched in fascination as Fleur added a pale pink potion to Millie's hair, then started waving her wand in complex spiral patterns.

Much to Hermione's amazement, Millie's hair slowly turned into loose, glossy curls, which Fleur slowly began to arrange into an elegant bun, leaving several tendrils to frame Millie's face. Fleur tilted her head to the side, evidently deep in thought. With a flick of her wand, a small wooden box soared over from her bureau. Fleur selected a delicate silver-wrought floral hairpin from in, and neatly pinned it into Millie's updo.

"There. Perfect. Now, go slip on your dress robes, and do not even think of touching your hair!"

Millie scampered off, clearly glad to be temporarily free of Fleur's ministrations. Fleur rounded on Hermione.

"What to do with your hair...hmm," Fleur mused.

"Maybe something like Millie's?" Hermione suggested, but Fleur didn't seem pleased.

"Something different then that, I think," Fleur said, head tipped once more in thought before experimentally moving a section of Hermione's hair. "Ah, yes, I know."

Hermione could see Fleur flicking her wand in her peripheral vision as her hair began to move and twist itself into a new formation. It was a truly bizarre feeling. Every so often, Fleur would click her tongue in approval as she moved around Hermione, and Hermione had to resist the urge to move. She was incredibly curious as to what Fleur was doing with her hair, but Fleur was insistent that Hermione not look until the look was finished.

After what seemed like an eon of waiting, Fleur was done with her hair, and Hermione was able to escape to don her dress robes. They were easily the most expensive thing she owned - Sirius had insisted on buying the finest dress robes Galleons could buy for her, Ron, and Harry the previous summer, and Hermione's were absolutely exquisite. Crafted from Acromantula silk, the robes felt weightless and unbelievably smooth against her skin. The deep burgundy contrasted wonderfully with her pale complexion, and the subtlety darker embroidery gave the robes depth, and practically screamed expense.

Hermione wasn't sure what her favorite part about the dress robes were - the sleeves fit snugly until the elbow before opening into a gorgeous bell sleeve large enough to easily conceal her wand. The dress robes also had deep pockets hidden in the folds, and fit Hermione perfectly. Between all those and the color, Hermione felt amazing in her dress robes. She just needed to remember to keep telling herself that, especially once she saw what some of the other witches were wearing.

Hermione slipped her feet into the heeled boots Sirius also insisted on purchasing her. She hadn't known that shoes could be made from hydra hide until that day, and found the boots to be rather comfortable despite the sizable heel. Hermione only hoped she'd be able to dance easily in them. She'd been practicing diligently, but still, insecurity reared its head.

Hermione made her way back to the sitting area of Fleur's room. Fleur had also changed into her dress robes, which looked to be made of molten silver transformed into silk. A silver band, twisted into abstract whirls, held back her long sheet of platinum blonde hair. It was the type of effortless glamour Hermione wished she could emulate.

"I will need one moment longer to finish Millie's makeup," Fleur said, "Then I will be ready to do yours."

Hermione tried not to fidget as she waited. It was now a matter of minutes, rather than hours, before they would go meet their dates in the Entrance Hall.

"There, Millie, you look perfect," Fleur said, "Hermione, if you would sit here and gently close your eyes. Please do your best not to twitch your face."

Hermione desperately tried not to move as a light spritz of liquid coated her face, followed by a soft puff of air. The sensations were odd, and definitely different from the application of Muggle makeup, although Hermione had never gotten any further than applying mascara and a light coat of lip gloss.

"You have pierced ears, yes?" Fleur asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Open your eyes for a moment." Fleur studied her carefully, then drew a pair of delicate gold earrings from her box. "Put these on - carefully, and close your eyes again."

The sensations of magical makeup continued for a moment longer, then stopped.

"Open your eyes," Fleur demanded, head tilted slightly to the side as she scrutinized Hermione. "Yes, this will do quite perfectly. Would you like to see?"

Hermione was practically dying of curiosity. "Yes."

"There is a full length mirror in my sleeping chamber, through the door on the left," Fleur said, gesturing. "You may go there to take a look, if you wish."

Hermione walked over as quickly as she could without tripping over her feet or her dress robes. She looked in the mirror, and her mouth fell open. She scarcely recognized the witch reflected back at her. The girl in the mirror was beautiful burgundy dress robes that fit snugly in the bodice before transitioning into swathes of floaty fabric. Her heeled boots peeped out from under her skirt, but it was the witch's hair and face that shocked Hermione the most. Her normally wild mass of curls had been tamed into soft ringlets, and was held back from her face by a simple gold band. Delicate earrings of spun gold peaked out from the curls, and her face looked exactly like her own face, only better, somehow.

Hermione hadn't realized just how much she resembled her grandmother until now. It was easier to see the similarities in their bone structure now that her hair was pulled away from her face, and the makeup certainly helped as well.

A grin slid its way across Hermione's face. She'd never felt so beautiful and so perfect in all her life. She'd always dreamed of one day growing up to be pretty, but she'd never imagined she could look like this.

For once, Hermione felt like a princess.

* * *

 _Entrance Hall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _23 December 1994_

* * *

Viktor could scarcely believe his eyes as Hermione descended the Grand Staircase alongside Millie and Fleur. Usually, all eyes naturally gravitated toward Fleur but this time...this time things were different. Fleur looked stunning as always in her silver dress robes, and Millie was striking with her deep blue dress robes and long black hair. Hermione, on the other hand, was something else entirely.

Viktor had always thought she was cute, albeit in a bookworm sort of way. The witch walking down the stairs was anything but that. She looked like she wouldn't be out of place in court, and Viktor immediately understood why the tsar had insisted he take Hermione to the Yule Ball.

Hermione looked exactly like her grandmother, Viktoriya Dolohova, and bribes would only hold for so long before rumours began to fly. Viktor straightened his posture. It one was one thing, of course, to look as if one belonged in court, but another entirely to behave properly. This was clearly what the tsar wanted Viktor to assess, and without ready access to proper court functions, the Yule Ball was as close to public scrutiny as they could get.

"Hello, Viktor," Hermione said, sounding slightly breathless. "You look very handsome."

Viktor smiled. "Good evening, Hermione." He gently took her hand, and performed a courtier's bow. "I will certainly be the most envied wizard at the ball."

Hermione blushed slightly. "Thank you."

"You do not need to thank me for stating the truth."

Hermione blushed more.

"Are you ready for the opening dance?" Viktor asked, steering the conversation into what he hoped were safer waters.

"Yes, I am. Professor Prince organized lessons for those of us who had less experience."

"That is quite prudent of him."

"Professor Prince is always prudent."

"He is a good professor as well," Viktor commented, "I have enjoyed the Potions classes here."

"I haven't had Professor Prince for Potions since first year," Hermione said glumly. "He was a really strict professor then, but I can see how he'd be absolutely amazing for N.E.W.T Potions. Professor Selwyn and Professor du Feu aren't bad per say, but I don't think they are nearly as talented as Professor Prince."

"He is working towards his Grand Sorcerer title in Potions, so he certainly is qualified. The Potions instructors at Durmstrang are good, of course, but none of them hold a Grand Sorcerer title."

"Is the grading system the same at Durmstrang as it is here?" Hermione asked curiously.

"More or less. We have equivalents to O. and N.E. - essentially the same exams, but different acronyms. We have different acronyms for the R.A.T as well; also apprenticeships are more common in Bulgaria than Wizarding University so they are not as commonly found. Grand Sorcerer distinction is the same."

Hermione looked like she was on the verge of asking another question when Professor McGonagall interrupted their conversation. "Champions and your dates, please line up in the order I call out. Mr. du Feu and Miss Malfoy; Mr. Wiesler and Miss Petersen; Mr. Stefan Krum and Miss Ostrowska; Mr. McGonagall and Miss Moran; Miss Delacour and Mr. Davies; Mr. Viktor Krum and Miss Granger."

"Does the order matter?" Hermione asked quietly as they lined up.

"Here? No. It seems to be in order of age. In other places, yes. There is a very specific order of precedence to follow. Exact details vary from function to function; however the highest ranked individuals enter first."

Professor McGonagall continued to speak. "In a moment, I will open the door to the Great Hall, and you will enter along with your date when your names are called. To warn you," Professor McGonagall continued, lips tightening around the edges, "There will be members of the press, and there will be at least one camera."

"Press? Here?" Hermione was clearly confused, although most of the other champions took it in stride.

"Effectively, this is an international social event," Viktor answered quietly. "Your country's _Daily Prophet_ likely paid a premium to have press access. I would surmise _Teen Witch Weekly_ did as well."

"Why?"

Viktor couldn't think of a way to put things delicately. "I can explain more later, but most of the champions are nobility in their respective countries, and the public enjoys gossiping."

"Oh."

"Pay attention, we are next. There is no need to be nervous," he quickly reassured her. "You will do fine."

"I'm actually not nervous - just, this is really quite strange."

"Lastly," Professor McGonagall announced, "Durmstrang champion Mr. Viktor Krum and Hogwarts champion Miss Hermione Granger!"

Viktor swept into the Great Hall, Hermione on his arm. Several cameras flashed, and Viktor ignored them. He was used to such things and worse from his Quidditch career. He only hoped Hermione wasn't feeling too overwhelmed.

All the champions and their dates took their positions for the beginning of the opening waltz, and Viktor could feel Hermione stiffen up for a moment before remembering to relax.

"Remember to breathe," Viktor murmured as the first strains of music began to play.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered back.

As it turned out, Hermione was a rather adept dancer for someone who claimed to have learned all of it very recently. She was confident in her steps and didn't step on Viktor's toes, unlike some of his cousins. Although, knowing Darya, she likely did so on purpose.

The waltz came to an end, and Viktor led Hermione off the dance floor. "There - Harry and Ron saved several seats."

Harry waved them over, and Viktor and Hermione joined them and their dates along with Stefan and his date, Klaudia Ostrowska. The small eight person tables with their golden plates were a far cry from Hogwarts' standard dinner fare.

"I wonder how the food will work," Ron mused, studying his plate as if it may lead to further insights.

Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat, and immediately attention turned to the High Table. He consulted the menu for a moment. "Appetizer: ravioli." he said firmly. After a moment, ravioli appeared on his plate.

"Well, that's simple enough," Ron said. "Appetizer: ravioli."

Viktor took a moment to peruse the menu. "Appetizer: smoked eel."

"Appetizer: Jérôme Galis asparagus," Hermione said, looking quite delighted when it appeared on her plate. "This is like art!"

Lily smiled. "Welcome to fine dining."

"I feel like I shouldn't eat it; it's too pretty!"

"It's very delicious."

Conversation muted as everyone began to enjoy the food, moving from the delicate appetizers into rich main courses. "This is really quite wonderful," Hermione said. "I don't think I've ever eaten anything this nice."

"I haven't either," Ron admitted. "I wonder how many Galleons all of this cost."

"Probably about as much as the press had to pay to get access," Millie said darkly.

"So, what is the structure of this?" Hermione asked. "Is there more formal dancing?"

Viktor nodded. "There will be about an hour more of formal dancing, then they will bring in a different band, remove the press, and let the students relax."

"Really? Which band?" Millie demanded.

Viktor smiled. "I have it on good authority that it's The Weird Sisters."

Ron's eyes looked like they were going to escape his head. "No way!"

"Yes. Only another hour of being on display."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Lily muttered. "I was hoping the Yule Ball wouldn't have any of this nonsense, but noooooo, it just had to include enough to be annoying."

"The announcing of the champions was stupid," Millie added. "If they were going to announce all of you formally, why omit the titles?"

"The titles?" Hermione asked.

"That is what I promised to clarify for you," Viktor said quickly. "Many of the Triwizard champions also are of their country's nobility, or hold titles. If they plan to announce us formally and treat the Yule Ball as a society event, then they ought to follow the appropriate customs. Minimally, we should have been announced with our full names."

"So what would that be?" Hermione asked curiously.

"For this occasion, for me, they should have said 'Hogwarts welcomes His Serenity Knyazhich Viktor Ivan Krum, Durmstrang Triwizard Champion, Baghatur, Duke of Thrace'."

Hermione stared. "That's...a lot of titles."

Viktor shrugged modestly. "It could have been more."

"That doesn't make me feel reassured, Viktor."

Music started to play again, and Viktor seized the opportunity for a distraction. "Would you like to dance?"

Hermione took a moment to collect herself. "Yes, I would."

Viktor swept Hermione back onto the dance floor, determined to make sure she had a lovely evening, even if the pensive look in her eyes persisted for the next hour.

* * *

 _Faery Gardens_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _23 December 1994_

* * *

"This is quite nice, isn't it," Ron commented idly as they wandered through the faery gardens. After the photo circus and the wild music of The Weird Sisters, both he and Millie needed some fresh air.

"It is," Millie agreed. "The roses are really pretty."

"Do you want to find somewhere to sit? Or do you want to keep walking?"

"Finding somewhere to sit would be great," Millie said. "Even cushioning charms don't keep my toes from being squashed in heeled boots."

"What about here - oh, never mind!" Ron quickly said, leading Millie past an alcove where Euan McGonagall and Aoife Moran were busy snogging.

Millie sniggered.

"Not here either," Ron said as they passed the next alcove. Baptiste Malfoy wasn't snogging his date, per say, but she was nearly sitting in his lap.

Finally, they were able to find an unoccupied alcove in the back of the faery gardens. Conversational that flowed easily while walking suddenly came to an awkward standstill. "So," Ron said after a moment of silence. "How's Quidditch going for you?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Ron wanted to take them back. It felt like a stupid topic, just talking about Quidditch.

Luckily, Millie jumped on to it. "Good. I mean, you saw our first game, and we completely crushed the Dancing Manticores. They're lucky they have Euan as their Keeper and two decent chasers in Higgs and Spinnet otherwise they'd be doomed. Their Beaters aren't bad, but they didn't come together well as a team, so we beat them."

"Who're you playing next?"

"The Charging Grindylows. They've got an interesting mix of people on their team, but I think we'll do better. How about you?"

"We've got the Flipping Flobberworms next. They seem very disorganized, so I'm not too worried."

"Are you staying at Hogwarts over Yule?"

"No, I'm going home, actually," Ron said, feeling excited. "We're going to have a big family Yule; my brother Charlie is coming back from Romania for it, and Bill and Percy got extra days off work so we can spend a bunch of time as a family. It's going to be great! How about you?"

"Hermione's coming home with me for Yule. We usually do some celebrations with just my family, and then us and the Moons go over to the Greengrass Estate for a larger celebration. It's pretty fun, especially now that Astoria is at Hogwarts and less of a baby."

"Sounds exciting."

Silence hung in the air again.

"Do you think Hermione was upset earlier?" Ron asked suddenly.

"About the whole title thing?"

"Yeah."

Millie thought for a moment. "I think she was, a bit. But Viktor distracted her pretty well."

"That's what I thought, too. It's hard for her. She was the only one at the table without a title, right?"

Millie nodded.

"And most of us have more than one title, too."

Millie nodded again. "She'll be alright. Hermione's not the kind of person to get caught up in all that."

"I know. I just feel bad."

"Me too. But there's nothing we can do about it."

"You're right."

Millie looked at him with an unreadable expression, and Ron found himself staring into her eyes. How had he never noticed that Millie's eyes were more green than hazel? His heart thumped faster. They were quite pretty, now that he thought of it. Millie had looked very nice tonight, very feminine, but somehow maintaining her characteristic fierceness. It was the type of look that made him feel warm and tingly inside. Something…

Ron and Millie jumped as the rose bushes next to them were brusquely blasted away.

"Professor!"

Professor Prince stared at both of them. "Mr. Weasley. Miss Bulstrode. My apologies for startling you."

"It's alright, professor."

"Please return inside."

Ron and Millie shared a look before heading back to the warmth of the castle, Ron's heart still beating hard like he'd just run a race and one thought in his mind: had he been about to kiss Millie?

* * *

 **A/N: Pairings - I'm sure you all are curious. These are not in any way final pairings; the characters are too young for that. Awkward teenage romance, on the other hand, will begin to happen...**


	18. Unexpected Tidings

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: UNEXPECTED TIDINGS

* * *

 _Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione Granger, and Lilian Moon's Dormitory Room_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _24 December 1994_

* * *

"Do you have everything you need packed?" Millie asked anxiously.

Hermione nodded, not bothering looking up from her book.

"Are you sure? Did you remember warm clothes for flying?"

"Yes, and I have my nice robes for Yule."

Millie sighed in relief. "Good. We have extra broomsticks at home, so you don't need to bother bringing one."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione said sarcastically, thoroughly unexcited at the idea of more flying practice. Ron and Harry had spent hours teaching her the basics, and while Hermione wasn't comfortable flying, she definitely had improved since their first year flying class. Unfortunately, based on the information she'd gleaned from the coded paper from the first task, the second task would be some sort of flying obstacle course. Knowing the Triwizard Tournament, there'd likely be a nasty twist as well.

Millie held her hands up in a placating gesture. "Look, don't get snippy with me. You're the one who made a point of asking me to help you practice."

Hermione sighed. Originally, she planned to stay at Hogwarts over the Yule break and have Harry and Ron help her improve her flying skills. That plan hit a snag when Ron's brothers pulled together a big family Yule, and Millie invited Hermione to spend Yule with her family. She'd initially been worried about leaving Harry alone at Hogwarts, but it turned out he was going to Bulgaria with Stefan and Viktor.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered. "I'm just stressed about the second task."

"At least you know the basic premise of it," Millie pointed out. "The first task you went in completely blind."

"I know. But I just feel more worried because I know it involves flying, and I know I'm bad at it."

"Pssh, don't sell yourself short. You're at least average by now."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's a big improvement."

Hermione's nose wrinkled in displeasure and she went back to reading. Millie wasn't wrong. She had improved a lot, but she knew she still wasn't anywhere near as good as Talon or Georg. With any luck, she would move up to 'acceptable' by the end of Yule break and be ready for the second task during the first week back.

"Are you ready to head down to the Express?" Millie asked.

"In a minute. I just need to pack these books away." Hermione carefully shrunk the book she was reading, along with the stack she'd been perusing all morning, and added them into her trunk. After a simple locking spell to ensure that no one would rummage through her belongings, Hermione stood up. "Alright, I'm ready."

The duo made their way out of the Slytherin dorms, into the thestral carriages, and onto the Hogwarts Express where they joined Ron, Lily, and Theo. Harry had left earlier on an International Portkey to Germany where he would then take the Imperial Express to Bulgaria. Hermione had been confused on why they bothered to take a train at all - surely it was easier to take an International Portkey from Hogwarts to the Krum's residence - but long-distance magical travel apparently was much more complex than she thought. There were certain ways Portkeys acted with ley lines that governed how far one could travel, and there also was a limitation on how much Portkey-strain a wizard's body could take. Travel got even more complex in Eastern Europe, however, because of the unilateral control exerted by the Russian Wizarding Empire, which was massive. The Russian Wizarding Empire covered all the territory claimed by the recently dissolved Soviet Union and maintained strong relations with its western neighbors.

Most of her classmates weren't eager to discuss exactly how the Russian Wizarding Empire maintained those relations, and after a bit of sleuthing, Hermione decided she didn't want to know. Some questions were best left unanswered.

Across the compartment, Theo swore.

"What?" Ron asked.

Theo gritted his teeth. "Have you read the _Prophet_ yet?"

"No."

"Read this." Theo thrust the paper towards Ron.

"Dumbledore's Giant Mistake?" Ron asked, skimming the paper. "I'm not surprised Hagrid is a half-giant, I mean that man is massive, but -"

"No, not that article," Theo managed. "The one under it."

"Romance Sparks at Hogwarts' Yule Ball," Ron read. "Doesn't this belong in _Teen Witch Weekly_ or some other rag?"

"Yes, keep reading."

"Alright, alright."

Hermione sidled over to read over Ron's shoulder, curiosity throughly piqued.

 _ROMANCE SPARKS AT HOGWARTS' YULE BALL_

 _by Rita Skeeter_

 _There is no venue quite as ripe for romance as the Hogwarts Yule Ball,_ writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. _With mistletoe hanging in the air and charmed snowflakes floating earthwards, it's not surprising that many young wizards and witches seized the chance to engage in romantic activities. Yes, dear readers, this_ Daily Prophet _exclusive provides you with the inside scoop on who went with whom._

 _The Yule Ball opened with a traditional waltz danced by the Triwizard Champions and their dates. Senior Hogwarts Champion Cedric Diggory escorted Cho Chang while senior Beauxbatons Champion Lady Fleur Delacour attended with Roger Davies. Lady Delacour was stunning in spun silver dress robes, and clearly one of the best dressed at the Yule Ball. Senior Durmstrang Champion Knyazhich Viktor Krum, renowned Quidditch Champion and Duke of Thrace escorted junior Hogwarts Champion Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, who wore elegant burgundy dress robes from Twilfitt and Tattings, was one of few witches at the event who was able to hold a conversation with her date rather than simply gawping._

 _Hogwarts intermediate champion Euan McGonagall, Duke of Cairngorm attended with Aoife Moran, Heiress to the Moran Coven._

Hermione skimmed the rest of the article, which was filled with more twaddle on who was wearing what, and the various fashion sins committed by Hogwarts students. Much to her horror, there was a photo of her dancing with Viktor. Luckily, the Hermione in the photo was twirling about elegantly instead of clomping around like a troll.

Ron's ears started turning red, and Hermione's eyes honed in on the photo. Percy and Ron stood off the side, apparently in the middle of a conversation while Ginny and Theo danced in the background. Hermione quickly read the text below the photo.

 _Percival Weasley, Lord Prewett and Earl of Devon, speaks with his younger brother Ronald Weasley, who will take the title of Lord Gryffindor when he becomes of age as their younger sister, Ginevra Weasley, dances with Theodore Nott, heir to the House of Nott and Earl of Nottingham and Winchelsea. One can only wonder whether Ginevra's older brothers approve of her choice in Yule Ball dates. Are Percival and Ronald attempting to seize control of the family from their older brother William, Lord Weasley, or is this a ploy from Ginevra to escape the suffocating control of her older brothers? Is Theodore Nott shifting House Nott's alignment from Traditional to Progressive or is he simply manipulating the youngest Weasley child? YULE BALL is continued on page 2._

"This is complete and utter bollocks!" Ron exploded. "What does she mean, 'seizing control of the family'? I'm not even Lord Gryffindor yet, and Percy is too busy working at the Ministry, taking uni classes, _and_ dealing with his responsibilities as Lord Prewett to do anything!"

"Tell me about it," Theo said darkly. "My father is not going to be pleased with this, and he's already not happy with me. It's not going to be a good Yule, even with Aria home."

Lily plucked the paper out of Ron's hands, and studied it for a moment. "That's not the worst thing."  
"What do you mean, that's not the worst thing? I've got to hope that my father doesn't turn homicidal for Yule!"

Lily tapped the paper impatiently. "Did you notice how many titles were used in the paper? Tell me, when's the last time you remember Rita Skeeter listing anyone's title beyond things to do with the House of Lords?"

The compartment fell silent.

"Bloody hell, you're right," Ron said after a moment. "She never does that, does she?"

"No, she doesn't," Lily said grimly. "And this article tells me one thing: someone very Traditionalist has some kind of pull on Rita Skeeter."

"Actually, it should tell us two things," Hermione said slowly. "I don't know about any of you, but I didn't see Rita Skeeter anywhere at the Yule Ball. I saw the photographers, but not her, and she's kind of a hard person to miss. Also, the story about Hagrid...how'd she get that information?"

The compartment fell completely silent once again as everyone tried to puzzle out yet another horrible truth.

* * *

 _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_

 _London, England_

 _24 December 1994_

* * *

"Oi, Ron!"

Ron scanned the bustling platform.

"Ron, over here!" A stocky redhead waved at him from across the platform.

"Charlie!" Ron made his way across the platform. He hadn't seen Charlie since the older boy moved to Romania shortly after graduating from Hogwarts. Ron had been mad when Charlie initially left. It'd been barely a year after their father's funeral, and suddenly Charlie was off to Romania. Ron had felt abandoned, and hadn't understood why Charlie had to leave. Now that he was older, he understood. Charlie had always been the most grounded, and Ron couldn't picture him rubbing elbows with Wizengamot Lords.

Granted, Ron couldn't picture himself doing it either. The more he learned about the duties he'd have as Lord Gryffindor, the more confused he got. Initially, it seemed like he'd have to attend Wizengamot sessions, but it was abundantly more clear that was only the start of his duties. There were numerous galas and networking events he'd have to attend if he hoped to gain support for any legislation, and meetings with sponsors to gain the Galleons needed to fund different projects.

Ron had no idea how Bill and Percy were managing their Wizengamot duties on top of a work schedule.

"Blimey! You've gotten tall!"

Ron did a double take. Last time he'd seen Charlie, he'd been far shorter. Now, he was taller by several centimeters.

"That's what happens when you go away for so long," Ron said lightly.

Charlie ruffled Ron's hair. "Where's the rest of the crew?"

"Dunno. Fred and George were sitting up with Lee and Ginny was with her Quidditch friends."

"Well, see if you can spot them, then."

Ron craned his neck, and eventually waved his siblings over. George's left eyebrow was mysteriously singed, and Ron wisely didn't comment on it.

"Alright," Charlie said as he led them to the Flooport, "We'll be Floo-ing back to the Burrow. I haven't been home yet, and Percy and Bill are still at work, but we'll do some sort of family dinner tonight."

"I hope there's food at home," Ginny grumbled. "I'm starving."

"Didn't you eat on the train?"

"No. I didn't have any money for snacks."

Charlie looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I've got money for the Floo; let's head to the Burrow."

Charlie paid a Knut for each of them, and Ron stepped into the Floo with his trunk. "The Burrow!" After a dizzying whirl of green, Ron landed in the living room and sneezed. It was dusty, which wasn't unusual.

Things hadn't always been that way. Ron could remember when the Burrow was always clean, and the kitchen filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. It seemed like forever ago, and almost like he'd just been a dumb little child misremembering things.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Ron jumped. "Sorry, wasn't paying attention."

"Well, yeah. Something bothering you?"

Ron sneezed again. "No." He could hear the lie in his voice, but Charlie luckily ignored it.

"It's bloody dusty in here; I can fix that at least." Charlie flicked his wand, and dust cleared from the living room furniture as Ginny, Fred, and George tumbled out of the Floo. "It's a mite chilly, too, looks like Mum forgot to renew the Heating Charms. I'll work on that while you lot go put your trunks upstairs, then we can wait for Bill and Percy. Also, let me know if you see Mum."

Ron clomped his way upstairs, surprised that Mum hadn't come into the living room yet. Even at her most listless, she was usually eager to see them. Ron mentally shrugged. Maybe she was napping. The house was quite chilly, and snuggling underneath a fluffy homemade quilt with a hot mug of tea was sounding like a better and better idea.

Ron stowed his trunk in his room, and made his way back to the living room where Charlie had succeeded in restoring the Heating Charm.

"Hey, look! The chessboard is still out - d'you want to play a game?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Not right now," Charlie said, prodding something with his wand. "I want to make sure I fixed this Heating Charm right. It's back on, but I don't want it to overheat the place. Why don't you ask Fred or George?"

"They won't play with me anymore."

"How come?"

"...I might win too much."

"Yeah? You kept up with chess? I remember you winning a bunch when you were younger."

"I do, yeah. I'm in the Slytherin Chess Society, so that's been fun. We usually just play

against each other or against the Ravenclaws but we're having a big tournament this year, since we have a bunch of good chess players from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visiting. Palin - Palin Patil -" Ron clarified "He's the club chair. He wants a bunch of us to go to the chess tournament at Olympus over the summer, but it's expensive, so I don't think I'll go."

"You should go do something fun over the summer."

"I did something fun last summer! The chess tournament would be fun, but it's just too much money and besides, it's the premier tournament on the Continent, so I probably wouldn't do well anyway."

"Alright. I mean, I'm sure me 'n Bill 'n Percy could help you out a bit with the cost…"

"It's fine."

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, and Ginny entered the room. "When're Bill and Percy going to get here?"

Charlie checked his watch. "Next few minutes, I think, so long as they aren't kept long at work."

"Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry."

"I dunno. I didn't stop by here before meeting you lot at the platform. Go check in the kitchen."

Ginny huffed. "Okay."

"Did you see Mum upstairs?"

"Nope," Ginny called over her shoulder. "I didn't look. Make Ron go do it."

"Ginny…"

"Going to get a snack!" Ginny yelled back. "I'm busy!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me. She gets more annoying each year."

A bloodcurdling scream split the air just as the Floo roared green. Bill stepped out, wand immediately in his hand. "What in the holy name of Merlin!?"

Ron's wand was suddenly in his hand as well, and the scream sounded again. Ron's heart thumped in his chest. "Ginny!"

He rushed towards the kitchen, Bill and Charlie in quick pursuit. Ron sprinted through the doorway, then froze. His stomach heaved, and bile burned in his throat. Ginny collapsed into a pile on the floor, eyes wide and staring as her chest heaved with silent sobs. All Ron wanted to do was look away, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Mum.

She was hanging from the ceiling.

It looked like she'd been dead for a while.

The smell alone was horrendous, but the fat black flies whizzing around Mum's face sent Ron heaving into a rubbish bin. His brain was working in short, jagged steps as the cauldron cake he'd eaten on the train made a reappearance.

 _Mum is dead._

It rang hollowly inside his head as the corners of his eyes started to prick. He stopped retching, and an arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him away from the kitchen. Ron's nose started to feel hot and tingly, and his lower lip trembled as he tried in vain not to cry. He scarcely paid attention to where his feet were carrying him until Bill guided him into a chair, placing a glass of water on the table next to him.

Bill looked like he was going to cry too, and Bill was the toughest wizard Ron knew. "It's okay to cry, Ron," Bill said huskily. "You don't need to hold it in."

Ron stared at Bill for a moment, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Bill just looked back, tension around his eyes as his Adam's apple twitched. He looked like he was trying to hold back tears too, and something about Ron's oldest brother almost crying broke him. Hot tears ran down Ron's face as choked sobs escaped him.

Bill pulled him into a hug, and Ron buried his face into Bill's shoulder as he cried harder. A nasty voice in the back of his mind tried to tell him that only weak stupid people cried, but Ron ignored it. His _mum_ was dead.

After what felt like a small eternity, Ron's sobs turned into hiccups, then vanished. He wiped his eyes and straightened up. At some point in time, Percy had made his way back. He looked deathly pale, and Charlie had a firm hand clasped on his shoulder. Fred, George, and Ginny were piled on the couch, Ginny crying into Fred's shoulder while George stared off into the distance, face completely blank.

Bill roughly wiped his eyes on his sleeve and swallowed. "Someone…" He cleared his throat, then tried again. "Someone needs to Floo the Aurors. And we're going to need to find another place for the kids to stay. My flat should be big enough for everyone, if we transfigure the sofa."

"I've got a sofa as well," Percy said, still looking shaky. "I can also stay with my girlfriend and someone else can have my bed."

Bill shook his head. "We should stay together, Percy. I can sleep on the floor if we need - I know a good Cushioning Charm."

Percy nodded, and Ginny sniffled.

Bill ran a hand through his hair. "I'll Floo the Aurors. Charlie, Percy, if you could bring everyone into the other room…"

Percy and Charlie quickly ushered the rest of them into the back room, and Ron blindly went where his feet led him. Something made him pause as he left the living room. He turned around, seemingly unbidden, as Bill dropped to his knees in front of the Floo.

Ron had never seen someone look so broken.

* * *

 _Minerva McGonagall's Personal Quarters_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _24 December 1994_

* * *

Minerva poured herself several fingers of scotch, quickly downed it, then turned her gaze to the bottle. It really was a scotch meant to be savoured. Sighing, Minerva placed the bottle in the cabinet, and withdrew a cheap bottle of firewhiskey. She contemplated the glass for a moment, then unscrewed the cap and took a long sip from the bottle.

Minerva grimaced. It really was as cheap as she'd remembered.

She usually wasn't one to drink, especially not cheap whiskey. She'd put the occasional finger of whiskey into her tea if the students were particularly moronic, but those days were few and far between. Besides, Minerva was a woman of patience.

There were some things, however, that were too much to bear without copious amounts of alcohol. Politics was one of them. She'd been relieved when her older brother, Moray, had a son, and she'd been beyond delighted when Graeme had children. Minerva was proud to have her three grandnephews and her grandniece in Gryffindor, and she was even prouder of their successes. Personal bias aside, Euan and Jamie had both been standout choices for prefects, Lennox was one of the few second years selected to play in the Quidditch tournament, and Maisie was a top member of the Gobstones team.

Minerva would do anything to keep them safe, hence the alcohol.

Minerva wasn't the sort of witch who put a lot of stock in Divination. It was a very wooly subject, and she strongly believed everyone had the chance to govern their own fate, with the exception of prophecies, which were notoriously slippery things. Minerva didn't always believe in Fate, but she did believe in her own sixth sense. It was a tingling behind her left shoulder, and a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something wasn't right. She first noticed it when she mastered the Animagus transformation, and it stuck with her ever since.

The sense of wrong had grown more persistent over the past few months, and Albus' request to reach out to old Order members hadn't sat right. Albus was hiding something, and between the probable Ascension of Runcorn and Rookwood, Minerva almost didn't want to know what new horror lay on the horizon.

Minerva summoned a quill and parchment, and took another sip of whiskey. She was rightfully pissed off about the Ascension. Scottish and Irish families were incredibly underrepresented in the House of Lords, and still, English families kept pushing more of their own forward. The MacMillans were the only Scottish family represented in the House of Lords despite the fact that the McGonagalls were a far older lineage, stretching back to when Scotland was still a collection of small kingdoms.

Minerva dipped her quill in ink, and began to write in Gaelic.

 _Dear Moray,_

 _I write to deliver words of warning. Albus requested that I reach out to former Order members, and I fear that an old threat will loom once again, especially given the likely Ascension of Rookwood and Runcorn. If they succeed, then the Blood Purists and Traditionalists will gain a stronger advantage in the House of Lords. If you look at it rightfully, we ought to Ascend alongside either the Connolly Clan or the Moody Clan to rebalance Wizengamot power and increase the Scottish and Irish representation. Meet with Archibald MacMillan and owl Aengus Moran. Perhaps we can organize enough last minute support to prevent the rise of Rookwood and Runcorn. If not, I fear the worse will pass, especially with our old enemy likely on the rise._

 _Call a meeting of the Trifecta. Should the worst come to pass, Beira's children will need to hold the north._

 _All my love,_

 _Minerva_

Minerva sealed the letter with a whispered charm, and attached it to her owl. Lips pursed, Minerva watched it leave. "May Beira watch over you," she murmured. "And may Wodin guide your path."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks as always for reading and reviewing! The next few updates might be a little slower since there's a lot of content and six more planned chapters for this volume, plus I have to finish planning the details of volume five.**

 **Luckily, if you're looking for more things to read, I have two other WIPs - _Purple Like Violets_ , which is my take on the Pureblood!Hermione trope and _Requiem_ , which is a dystopian, Hunger Games-esque take on Voldemort winning the first wizarding war.**

 **Stay safe and healthy!**


	19. Preparations

CHAPTER NINETEEN: PREPARATIONS

* * *

 _William Weasley's Flat_

 _London, England_

 _3 January 1995_

* * *

Bill's hand rested firmly on Ron's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Ron shrugged. The entire holiday had flooded by in staccato bursts, and at this point, he felt mostly numb. He tried not to think of Mum's funeral, and the way they'd lowered the pine box into the ground. He tried not to think of the headstone, now engraved with Mum and Dad's names, and the words that scrolled across it. _Always Together. Never Apart. Forever One Heart._

As much as it hurt him to admit it, Ron knew it was true. His memories of his dad were hazy, but he did remember how much his parents loved each other.

And now they were both gone, and Ron just felt empty.

"Ron?"

"I'm okay," Ron said quietly.

"I owled your Head of House about everything," Bill said. "If you need anything, you can talk to him. My work schedule is going to be a bit more flexible for the next week or so, and you can always Floo if you need to."

Ron looked down. "Thanks."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Ron looked up. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

Bill let the lie slide. "Remember, I'm always here for you. Is everyone else ready?"

"Fred and George were still packing. Not sure about Ginny."

Bill rummaged around in his pocket for a moment and withdrew a small box. "You should have this," he said quietly. "I was going to give it to you over Yule, but then it didn't seem right with everything going on."

Ron took the box, and carefully opened it. Inside were a pair of gold cufflinks in the shape of a lion rampant.

"It's for the Gryffindor lordship," Bill said softly. "Now that you're officially going to be Lord Gryffindor when you are of age, I thought it'd be appropriate for you to have them."

Ron swallowed. "Thanks."

"Be careful, Ron. There's something big happening soon, and Skeeter's latest article shows that. Someone important is moving things behind the scenes, and you've got to be ready for it." Bill grimaced. "Symbols...symbols are important to Traditionalists. Just keep your eyes open, okay?"

Ron nodded. "What do you think is going on?"

"Honestly, I don't know. There's been a groundswell of support for Traditionalist policies lately, especially with the upcoming Ascension vote. I think the Traditionalists are preparing for something big, and the Blood Purists are in on it as well. I've heard a few rumors, but I don't think any of them are true."

"What rumors?"

Bill looked over his shoulder. "Ones I probably shouldn't repeat." He looked back at Ron. "Lord Gaunt may be making overtures to Ireland."

Ron froze. "Ireland. Not Northern Ireland?"

"Not Northern Ireland," Bill said quietly.

"What type of overtures?"

"Marriage, allegedly. Not to any of the Morholts," Bill added quickly, seeing Ron's panic.

"Who, then?"

"The Rowans. Perhaps the Sayre Coven as well."

"...that's not good."

"No, it isn't," Bill agreed. "Keep your eyes and ears open. If Lord Gaunt is making diplomatic moves towards Ireland, we could be in for something bigger than an undesired Ascension vote."

Ron didn't have to ask Bill what he meant by something bigger. "Do you think it will be as bad as last time?"

Bill fidgeted with his hair. "Merlin, I hope not. But, to be honest with you, I fear it will be."

Ron swallowed hard.

"Try not to think about it. It's just a rumour, and one of many surrounding Lord Gaunt. Just keep your eyes and ears open for anything about the Blood Purists, and let me or Percy know if you hear anything important, alright?"

"Alright."

Bill squeezed his shoulder. "Everything will be okay, Ron. Don't forget, I'm always here for you."

Ron nodded mutely.

"Let me know when your next Quidditch game is. I'd love to see you play."

Ron managed to find his voice. "I'll owl you once I'm back at school."

"Good. Let's find the rest of you lot—we don't want to be late for the train."

The journey to Hogwarts passed by in a blur. Harry made several good natured attempts at conversation before leaving Ron alone with his thoughts. Hermione and Millie also had noticed something was wrong, but neither commented. Truth be told, Ron wasn't sure why he hadn't told his friends. The funeral had been a small, solemn affair, and it wasn't as if any of them had known his mum personally. It just didn't seem right, to burden them with that knowledge.

Ron hardly noticed the feast, and it wasn't until they were back in the common room that Hermione cornered him.

"I need your help."

Ron's head spun as he tried to collect his thoughts. "For?"

"The Triwizard task," Hermione said impatiently.

"I thought you practiced with Millie?"

"I did. I'm just worried I'm underestimating the task. I know it's some kind of flying obstacle course, but what if we have to duel each other while on brooms?" Hermione speculated, each word coming out faster than the last. "I mean, it wouldn't be out of the range of possibilities, and I'm worried that I'll be unprepared."

"Why? You're probably the best duelist in our year."

"But am I better than Talon or Georg? Probably not."

Ron shrugged.

"I want you and Harry to help me, and Millie too," Hermione said breathlessly. "I was thinking we could go down to you-know-where and practice that a bit."

Ron opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hermione kept going.

"I just feel like I really need to practice more. I'm sure Talon and Georg were practicing for the entire holiday, and they already were so much better than me to start out with and—"

"Breathe for a moment, would you?"

Hermione looked slightly guilty. "Sorry."

"I don't think Harry's going to want to bring Millie to...the place," Ron said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we all can't help you!" he added quickly, seeing Hermione's face drop. "It'll probably be better to practice outside, actually, because I'm assuming they aren't building a weather-controlled stadium for the task."

"...I didn't think of that."

"You'll need to get practice on the broom you'll use for the task," Ron added. "Harry can get you one of the Slytherin spare brooms again—it'll be a lot better than using Millie's old one. I think he's still got his old set of Quidditch gloves, too, which you should borrow so your hands don't freeze."

Hermione groaned, and Ron patted her on the shoulder.

"There's nothing better than flying in the middle of a Scottish winter!"

Hermione looked at him grouchily. "Why did I sign up for this?'

"Because you're a fool like the rest of us," Ron said cheerfully. "C'mon, let's go find Millie and Harry."

* * *

 _The Red Room_

 _Deskie Castle, Scotland_

 _5 January 1995_

* * *

Standing at over six foot tall, Moray McGonagall easily intimidated most wizards. Gray had chased away the russet in his hair, but his back remained unbowed. Like his father before him, Moray was the leader of the Trifecta, the council of the three most powerful clan leaders in Scotland. The McGonagalls, the MacMillans, and the MacDougals had held seats on the Trifecta for centuries, and served as a governing body for the rest of the Wizarding clans.

Moray steepled his fingers. He was old enough to remember the horrors of Grindelwald's Rise and the Greater Good movement, and how his father had aged far too quickly. Broden McGonagall had appeared far beyond his years by the start of the Blood War, and passed beyond the Veil two years into the war. Moray had immediately taken his father's place as Trifecta leader and prayed he would never see another war in his lifetime.

Unfortunately, Beira did not appear to grant his prayer. The news Minerva presented to him over Yule chilled him to his bones, and he feared the worst was yet to come.

"Well?" Moray asked.

Archibald MacMillan looked grim. "I was able to meet with Aengus Moran. He's set out a few feelers amongst the covens, and the news isn't promising. Lord Gaunt is mustering power."

"In Ireland."

"Yes, and in England as well."

"He's been making attempts in Scotland too," Lucas MacDougal said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "He already has half the MacNairs on his side. Alastair Fergusson, Tamhas MacBeth, and Gladys Dunbar all mentioned they've received overtures from the Blood Purist and Traditionalist cohorts wanting them to advocate for certain policies in the House of Commons."

"In the House of Commons? What good will that do?" MacMillan asked.

MacDougal shrugged. "Dunno. The Commons don't have much power, unless he's looking to introduce a new bill through another avenue."

Moray's eyes narrowed. "And what did they all think of the overtures?"

"Fergusson and Dunbar are Neutral-Traditionalists through and through, and they're definitely concerned. MacBeth is a Traditionalist, but not the sort who'll get cozy with Blood Purists."

Moray breathed a sigh of relief. "Has there been any news from Reid Banquo or Gregor MacKenzie?"

"No."

"Thank Beira for small mercies," MacMillan muttered.

Moray's fingers tapped an idle beat on the table. "The question, of course, is how do we proceed? Minerva told me that Albus Dumbledore is assembling a guerilla fighting group again, which makes me think this situation is bigger than we know."

MacMillan frowned. "If it were that dire, wouldn't he warn us?"

Moray shook his head. "Not if he didn't trust anyone. I know that wizard, and he keeps everything close if he has no one to trust."

MacDougal snorted in agreement. "My da went to Hogwarts with Albus. He's always been like that."

"The question I have," Moray continued, "is what does Albus know that we don't? If this was merely a political matter, I would expect him to muster forces across both Houses and in the ICW. Reviving a guerilla group from the Blood War is a completely different matter."

"Albus could have information on the Irish that we don't," MacDougal suggested. "If Gaunt gets the power of the Morholts behind him, Albus would be well within his senses to muster an extra fighting force."

Moray pinched his lip in thought. "Maybe. I feel like there's something we're missing. I can feel it in my bones."

"What do you think it is?" MacMillan asked.

"I haven't got a clue."

MacDougal looked thoughtful. "Can Minerva find out any more information from Albus? He's a tight lipped bastard, but perhaps she can convince him."

"I'll owl her. Archibald, you need to get into contact with the covens again. Someone has got to have an inkling of what's occurring on the other side of the wardline."

MacMillan nodded, eyes hard.

"We need to begin monitoring Lord Gaunt's movements closely," Moray continued. "My son tells me there's been a subtle push towards Traditionalist values at the Edinburgh wizarding primary, and I have a feeling that the other schools likely experience the same policies. The Rowles are the school representatives for London and Liverpool, and I'm not closely acquainted with any of the instructors there."

"Amaryllis Smith—Bartholomew Smith's niece—is the school representative for Cardiff," MacMillan said. "I can speak to him next Wizengamot session. I'll also see if Aengus can make some quiet inquiries about the Belfast school. Saoirse Moody is one of the instructors, and she's got a good head on her shoulders."

Moray's eyes narrowed. "If this turns out to be true, then there's something far more insidious brewing. It's something foul, and I don't like any piece of it. I'll have my brother and his son check the wardstones."

MacDougal's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "You think it's going to be that bad?"

"Yes, Lucas, I do." Moray stared out the window at the earthworks surrounding the castle and the rolling grassland of the highlands. "I would rather be prepared and forewarned rather than caught with my kilt around my ankles. As the leaders of the Trifecta, we have a duty to the rest of the clans to ensure that Scotland endures. We will need to be prepared to send word out to the clans if a threat materializes."

"And what will we do if it does?" MacMillan demanded.

Moray smiled grimly. "The Irish aren't the only ones who remember the old ways of magic. If me and mine have to give our lives to protect Scotland, so be it."

* * *

 _Hogwarts Grounds_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

 _7 January 1995_

* * *

Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot as she stole another glance at her competitors. Both appeared to be perfectly relaxed, and Hermione sternly told herself to stop fidgeting. It was easier said than done. Her mind was racing, dancing from one scenario to the next. She knew the second task would involve flying, obstacles, and retrieving an object. The parchment hints hadn't granted her any more insight than that, and Hermione quickly learned there was nothing quite as terrifying as the unknown.

The older Champions were clustered on the other side of the tent, talking quietly among themselves. Euan McGonagall and Cedric Diggory both gave her an encouraging thumbs up when she glanced their way, and Hermione quickly looked away. It wouldn't do to dwell on the situation and get any more nervous than she already was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ludo Bagman burst into the tent. Hermione's heartbeat accelerated. This was it. She was about to find out what horrors awaited her.

Bagman grinned broadly. "Good afternoon, Champions!" he began far too jovially. "As you already should know, today's tasks will begin with our youngest Champions and move from there up to our oldest." Bagman rubbed his hands together. "If Georg, Talon, and Hermione could step forward…"

Hermione took a few steps towards Bagman, willing her legs not to tremble.

"Now," Bagman boomed, "You all know, of course, that your task will involve an aerial obstacle course, but you don't know about these." Bagman brandished three Potions vials from inside his cloak.

Hermione did her best not to pass out in a blind panic when Bagman explained just what the Potion did.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience with the update! I've been busy moving and starting a new job, it should be a shorter wait to the next one. Thanks again as always for reading and reviewing!**


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